


Fate Guides Us

by TheWolfWhoWaited



Series: Heroes of Mundas and Beyond [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Elder Scrolls, Fable (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Blood Magic, Crossover, F/M, Friends of Red Jenny, I'm trying, Lavellans are all siblings, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, Multi, Multiple Crossovers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Please don't hate me for this, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rewrite, Romance is there but not a main thing, You Have Been Warned, all the badass ladies, like forreal, like really, sassy gay ocs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-06 04:02:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 62,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6737455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWolfWhoWaited/pseuds/TheWolfWhoWaited
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dragonborn and Master Thief, Nymeria Stormcrown wakes up in a world where the sky is ripped open and Demons are pouring out. She had found friends in the couple who found her, Astrid Hawke and Anders. Thrown into a world where elves and magic are hated, and her past haunting her at every turn, Nymeria has to overcome her own desire to be alone and keep her life private. The worst from Tamriel and Thedas has banned together, and it will take the Inquisition, backed by the heroes from other lands to defeat these evils before it destroys Thedas and infects Tamriel and Albion.    </p><p>*****Rewrite of The War of Heroes*****(This one is much better!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something's Not Right

“What the Void was that?” Astrid Hawke looked to Anders. The duo produced their staffs and carefully walked over to the source of the loud noise. There, they saw a woman lying in the middle of a large circle with strange runes everywhere. The grass was scorched all around. Anders rushed to the woman’s aid. “She’s alive… and it looks like she’s uninjured. I think her armor broke her fall.”

  
Now that they were closer, Astrid got a better look at her. She had very tan skin, and a long scar under her left eye. She had on armor that looked like it was made of ice and some sort of bone. Anders took her helm off and began to attempt to wake her up. Hawke noticed her pointed ears, and how completely unlike she was compared to the other elves. She had mid-back length wavy hair, black as pitch. The woman opened her eyes and, before even the battled-hardened couple could react, she had a very menacing looking dagger held to Ander’s throat. “Move and he’s dead.” She uttered. Astrid could see that Anders was struggling to hold back Justice. “And this is what we get when we try to help people.” Astrid said in her usual sarcasm. She could see the woman loosen her grip a bit, then release him, and push him away. Astrid breathed an internal sigh of relief.

  
The woman then went immediately to her fallen bow a few feet near her. “Where am I? Where’s Ancano?” she asked. “No clue who that is. But usually conversations start with a name. You can call me Hawke. And this is Anders, who you seem to already have a great relationship with.” Astrid replied.

  
“My name is Nymeria. The Nords call me the Stormcrown, after Talos”, she paused for a second, “This is strange. The Eye must have teleported me here, along with Ancano. Where am I anyway?"

  
"Not far outside Cumberland." Astrid replied. The mage was gifted with a blank, uncomprehending stare from the other woman.

  
"Cumberland, in Nevarra? On the continent of Thedas?" Hawke quirked her brow.

  
Nymeria's blood ran cold.

  
"That's the strange feeling I'm getting. This is a whole other plane of Oblivion." Hawke shot a look over to Anders, the look she would give him when they were dealing with madmen in Kirkwall.  
It was not altogether impossible for there to be another plane of mortals, and if they were not influenced by daedra, then it must lie in far, far away from Nirn. Nymeria had been around enough to know nothing was impossible.

  
"I find myself in the rare predicament of not knowing where I am or what I am up against. Would it be possible for me to accompany you? At least to the nearest city." The elf questioned. "I've taken in crazier and stranger in my merry band of misfits before," Hawke chucked. "As long as you know how to use that bow, I don't care."

  
"Astrid, a word?" Anders pulled Hawke to the side, and began talking lowly to her. "Do you think this is a good idea? Varric said the new Inquisition might need you, us, to help the mages in Redcliffe.

  
Not to intrude on her new companion’s conversation, though with her heightened senses she could hear every word, Nymeria took out her journal and began copying down the runes burned into the ground. It was strange, a mix between Daedric script and Dovahzul.

  
"Anders, we can help, but she just dropped out of the sky! She could have came out of the Fade like the Herald did." He pondered her words. "Alright. But only because she could be an asset." Satisfied, they returned to where Nymeria was still copying down runes.

  
They seemed like decent people, but Nymeria would rather be lost and wandering aimlessly than be used.

  
"Right, well like I said, you are welcome to join us. We were going to head south for Ferelden, to see if the Inquisition needs help with the Breach. We need to go to Cumberland to find a ship. You can have my horse, as long as it carries the equipment." Astrid explained.

  
The three quickly transferred the equipment to Hawke's horse, mounted, and set off in the direction of the road.


	2. Journey to Cumberland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nymeria learns a bit about Thedas, and the trio makes their way to Cumberland.

“So, what’s the deal with the scribbles? I’m guessing they’re not just scribbles.” Hawke asked the elven woman, who was directing the horse down the dirt road without using the reins, her slightly upturned nose buried in her journal.

Nymeria turned her enigmatic molten amber eyes to the Champion. “No, they are not. It’s a strange mixture of both the dragon language and daedric. Some of the letters are intermixed, and are a bit hard to distinguish, but it shouldn’t be much of a problem. I’m fluent in both languages, but it makes no sense that they’d be together. The dovahzul language and dragons have no connection with daedra. Dragons are too proud to make deals with princes.”

“You act like dragons aren’t beasts. Intelligent beasts, but they are just beasts.” Anders cut a glance to the elf, his eyes focusing back on the road in front of him. “Where I’m from, dragons are very intelligent, and immortal. In the Merethic Era, they ruled over men in a cult.”   

“Where exactly are you from?” Hawke asked.

“Riften, in Skyrim. That’s where I live at least. I’m actually from the Imperial City. I came to Skyrim about six years ago.”

“Right… and where’s Skyrim exactly? West of non-crazy Qunari?” Hawke responded.

Nymeria gave Hawke a look that said ‘I am not amused.’

“It’s on the continent of Tameriel, on the plane of Nirn. This is another mortal plane of Oblivion, which is, in a word, unheard of. This could be the single most important magical discovery of the last several eras.”

“You act like you’re from a different world. Like from one of Varric’s stories.” Hawke commented. This woman was either brilliant, or completely bonkers, she decided.

“The fact you know nothing of the rest of Mundas is extraordinary. Do you truly not have access to other planes?”

“There’s the Fade, but that’s it.” Anders answered. 

“Extraordinary. Truly.” While her words seemed interested, her tone and facial expressions gave a different impression. Nymeria turned back to her book.  

“One of these words trouble me. The word is ‘Kel’, which in the language of the Dovah, means ‘Elder Scroll”. If I need an Elder Scroll to get to Skyrim, we’re in trouble. They are very hard to come by and I don’t even know if there is one on this Plane. It also mentions, more in daedric than dovahzul, a ‘betrayer of the Lord that Dominates.’ The Lord that Dominates can only be Molag Bal, the who is often called the Lord of Domination and Brutality. Whatever poor and foolish soul that would get tangled up with that prince, then betray him deserves whatever punishment they get for their ignorance and stupidity. Ancano might not be the only one involved in this, whatever mischief he is planning.” 

“Maybe it would save time later if you told us what happened. And just how dangerous this guy is.” Anders looked to Nymeria. She in turn put her journal away and sighed. “It’s a long story, though if we are to be allies, you need to know what we will be facing.

“I found an object, a powerful one in a ruin. Ancano and the others were very fascinated with it, but it always gave me a splitting headache to even be near it. After hours of research and trekking through ruins, I found out both what the orb was and how to contain it. Unfortunatly, Ancano decided to be a predictable Thalmor prick and opened the Eye of Magnus. We were fighting when I ended up here. My only regret is being too caught up with this nonsense to send word to Brynjolf and Serana. Now they’ll be tearing though the province look for me. If the Eye doesn’t somehow destroy everything from now until then. ” Nymeria explained to them.

“Do you have the thing that can stop it?” Anders asked her.

A bluish-green and gold ring on her right index finger began to glow softly when a staff appeared in her hand. Anders and Astrid looked at her in both shock and wonder. Nymeria gave them a wolfish grin. “That answer your question?” she chimed.

“You’re a mage?” Hawke and Anders asked in unison.

“Judging by your staves, I’m assuming that’s not a problem? After all, I prefer my bow to magic.” The look she gave the couple was cold, calculating, and actually made Astrid uneasy.

“No, not at all, it’s just surprising.” Anders informed the elf.

Nymeria gave the couple a small half smile, and much of the tension melted away. She then stuck her nose back into the leather-bound journal, hoping to make more sense of the runes.

 

* * *

 

It didn’t take long to reach a village not far from Cumberland. Well, village was a nice word for it. It was a small collection of several thatch farmhouses, an inn, and a general store. As the trio approached, all activity ceased, all eyes on the travelers, and the staffs they carried. It wasn’t Astrid or Anders they were really staring at though, it was the imposing elven woman that sat astride a horse, fully armored and armed to the teeth. The simple folk of Nevarra were probably as terrified of her as they were of the Blight.

They came to the center of the village, where a tavern and inn was. Once to the stables, they dismounted and tied up their horses, taking their packs with valuables with them into the dimly-lit wooden building. Once inside, they were greeted with a reception much like the one they had upon entering the village: silence and stares.

Astrid swaggered over to the barkeep, and asked for a few rooms. The man was older, and had the look of someone who had seen many a battle, if the long scar that ran over the length of his face had anything to say. The eye the scar ran over was milky white; the other was the color of cold steel.

“You and the man can have a room for one night, and one only. We don’t need no mages to stay around here.” His voice was hard and unrelenting.

“And my friend?” Astrid asked with all her charm.

“I don’t serve elves. Especially ones that look like they could take Château Haine. Rather have mages than dangerous elves.”

“Not even for a few silvers?”

“A few silvers can’t buy an old soldier’s pride. Either take the one room or get out.”

Astrid quirked an eyebrow at the man. He was playing with all kinds of fire here.

“I’ll pass on the rooms, but give me a few bottles of the best wine you have.”

His good eye narrowed at her before he disappeared into a back room for a minute or so, reappearing with bottles in hand.

“The best I got is something from Tevinter. Two sovereigns for the both of them.”

“Fine. Here.” she set the coins on the worn-smooth counter grabbed the bottles, and turned on her heel, weaving her way back to the door. Astrid was the first out the door, followed by Anders, and Nymeria was last, but not before giving all the people in the tavern a look that made all their pewter mugs frost over, and froze all of the spilled liquor on the tables before turning and slamming the door shut.

“Racist bastards.” Astrid muttered once outside.

“We can camp further down the road. I don’t think the villagers will bother us, given how scared they are, but it’s better to be safe.” Anders said as he started securing his and Astrid’s packs back on Nymeria’s horse. The elven woman had been silent though the whole exchange with the barkeep, and she emitted a cool sort of rage. Once the trio were far enough out of the village, Nymeria rounded on Astrid.

“What in Talos’ name was that that about?” Her anger was only just contained.

“The people in Thedas tend to hate three things: mages, the Blight, and elves. That’s why we’re not staying there.”

“He offered you a room.”

“And I didn’t take it. You can’t tell me that where you’re from that there’s no racism there.”

Nymeria’s scowl deepened. “In some parts, yes. And only certain people. It will always happen. I had just hoped that it would not be the case here.”

“Just don’t go to Tevinter. They have elven slaves.”

The elf bared her canines. “That’s an outrage.”

“I have a friend that was a slave, it’s a tragedy, but it happens. I’ve killed every slaver I’ve ever come across. It’s the best you can do.”

“Magic is also feared here?”

This time Ander spoke. “Yes. And unjustly so. Mages are locked in a tower, guarded by people that would kill everyone in the tower, even the children, for no reason at all.” His eyes flashed blue. This did not go unnoticed by Nymeria, and now her interest was truly peaked.

“Tameriel has its problems, but we don’t lock up people with magical talent out of fear. Everyone can perform magic, there’d be no point.”

Astrid and Anders shared a look of shock. “Everyone can perform magic?”

“That’s not what it’s like here? Some have a natural talent, but anyone can learn.”

“Merrill said that once all elves had magic, but no.”

“That’s strange,” Nymeria paused for a moment. “This Plane is very odd.”

Astrid gave her a smirk. “Yeah. It seems like there’s a crisis somewhere every few years or so.”

By now, they had reached a decent place to camp, not too far down the main road, and they could hear a stream bubbling not far away.

Nymeria quickly surveyed the area. “This looks a decent enough place to camp.” Anders and Hawke sounded their agreement.

Not much time passed before there was a decent sized fire crackling, and bedrolls lain out. The day was mild for Neverra, and the sky clear, not that a tent would keep out any significant amount of water.

Nymeria was off scouting for a few small game animals to cook. Astrid and Anders were a little surprised when she unbuckled her plate armor to see the black as pitch leathers she was wearing, and when she scaled a nearby tree and leaped from branch to branch, disappearing into the forest.

“She makes me uneasy, Astrid. All this going on, and she just suddenly appears?” Anders commented to Hawke.

“Is Justice uneasy?

“We both are. Neither of us has ever heard of another world before. It seems impossible, but I can sense some strange form of magic coming from her. Can’t you?”

Astrid gave him a pointed look. “I was hoping it was just because the world is going to shit. I suppose that was too much to ask?” She gave him a goofy smile, the one that never failed to make him do the same. Anders’ mouth quirked into a small smirk.

“I’m afraid not, love. She seems very intelligent, and clever, just not very social.”

“Says the man that would lock himself up in our room or your clinic for days to work on your manifesto.”

“Point, taken.” Anders sighed. The couple had finally finished setting up their camp, and were now sitting on their bedrolls, waiting for Nymeria to return.

Which she did a short while later, carrying three Nevarran hares. Each picked one up and began to skin it, and soon there were spits over the fire, the meat sizzling and making their stomachs rumble.

When the meat was done, Astrid dug out the bottles of wine, uncorked one, and took a generous swig. Like all Tevinter wine, it burned like a son of a bitch going down, but the warmness in her belly was worth it. She passed it to Anders, who did the same, and then passed it to Nymeria. The elven woman smelled it first, before taking a sip of her own. She didn’t even flinch as it went down. Astrid was impressed.

“You can just drink that, and it not even bother you?” Hawke raised an eyebrow, and then took a bite of her hare.

“Argonian Bloodwine is spicier, the shit the Dunmer drink taste like ashes, and Nordic mead will knock you on your ass. Let’s just say I have a tolerance for alcohol.” A smile ghosted her lips.

“Damn. I might have to get some sometime. Sounds like a party.” Astrid joked.

“When I get back to Tamriel, You can take whatever you want from my cellar. So as long as you share it.” Nymeria quipped.

Astrid grinned. “Deal.”

 

* * *

 

The sun grew darker, and the moon and stars were soon out. There was a small break in the trees overhead, and Nymeria looked up.

“It’s so strange to not see the lights, or Masser and Secunda.” She muttered.

“What do you mean?” Anders asked.

Nymeria looked to the blond mage. “In Skyrim, every night there are these gorgeous multi-coloured lights that dance across the sky, while the moons, Masser and Secunda, shine.”

“That sounds beautiful.” Hawke commented.

“Skyrim is a land of harsh beauty. Cyrodiil is very dear to my heart, but Skyrim is much better suited to me.”

“I feel the same. As much as a pain in the ass it is, Kirkwall will always be home to me too. Ferelden was where I grew up, but I’d much rather run around the City of Chains, as morbid as that might sound.” Hawke chuckled, then yawned.

“It’s getting late, love. I’ll take first watch.” Anders stated.

“No need. You two get some rest, I insist.” Nymeria protested.

Astrid and Anders exchanged glances, before the dark-haired mage flopped face-first into her pillow, and made herself comfortable.

“Wake me after a few hours, so you can get some rest.” Anders told her. Nymeria nodded and made herself comfortable against a log. Anders laid down and wrapped his arms around Astrid, who snuggled into his chest. Nymeria glanced at the couple, loneliness and longing blooming in her chest. It had been weeks since she had been home last, weeks since she had seen Brynjolf, and weeks since she had slept soundly and through the night.

The fire gave off enough light, and deciding to distract herself, Nymeria began to write in her journal, and come up with possible theories on how and why she was here, in this strange world.

 

* * *

 

Soon, the sun peeked over the horizon, and Nymeria yawned, putting her journal away. She woke Astrid and Anders, whom were rather cross with her.

“Why didn’t you wake one of us?” Anders demanded.

“I don’t sleep well anyway. No one would have been able to sleep. Besides,” the elf shrugged, “I’m used to staying up for a few days with little sleep, and I can sleep in the saddle.”

“Anders, if she wanted to stay up through the night, I’m not gonna complain. Let’s break camp and eat something while on the road.” Astrid kicked some dirt on the fire. Anders grumbled something and began to pick up the camp.

“What was that love? I can’t hear you over the sound of Justice.” Astrid teased the blond mage, who actually cracked a smile.

Nymeria decided she liked Anders better when he smiled. It took the years off his gaunt face and made his eyes light up, a reaction she was sure only Astrid could influence.

With all three of them working, it only took a few moments to pack up their small camp and get back on the road. Astrid pulled some bread from her pack, broke it in half and gave some to Anders, who was seated behind her on the saddle. Nymeria grabbed and apple and some snowberries from her own, passing the small leather pouch full of the berries to the couple after she had her fill.

“These are really good! What are they?” Astrid inquired. “Snowberries. Very common in Skyrim and a common staple of a Nord’s diet. The province doesn’t get much in the way of fruit, especially with the civil war and the Thalmor bearing down on us.”

“There’s a civil war?” Anders’ interest was piqued.

“Yes and no. A few years ago I forced the Empire and the Stormcloaks to a stalemate while I dealt with the dragon crisis. Both sides have feared my retribution and don’t want to be blamed for the bloodshed of breaking the treaty, but it’s quickly breaking down. I know both sides have plans upon plans to take cities and holds under the other’s control. The Thalmor’s presence growing in Skyrim is only making matters worse. I fear that I might not have a home to come back to.” Nymeria grew quiet.

After a short silence, Astrid spoke up. “You know, I know how you feel. The Darkspawn drove my family out of Lothering, killed my sister, made my brother a Warden, and now we can’t go back to Kirkwall, or the Free Marches for that matter.”

Nymeria thought carefully before replying. “I had to leave the Imperial City. There was too much hatred for someone like me.”

“Someone like you?” Anders questioned.

The elf’s gaze met his. “My mother was an Altmer mage, my father a Bosmer scout. My mother’s family disowned her when she ran off with my father. We were poor, and my mother died in childbirth. My father was murdered when I was about five. I stole and lived on the streets for a few years before I hitched a ride on a cart going to Bruma. I stayed there until I got ran out of town when I was eighteen, and made my ways to Skyrim. For the first year, people would spit on me as I walked through the city.”

“Why were they so horrible to you?” Astrid was horrified.

“I’m a half-breed elf. You can’t get worse than that right now. The Altmer hate me because I’m not _pure_. The rest of Tamriel hates me because I’m half the thing that killed their family, beat the Empire into submission, and forbade the worship of Talos. The Nords look at me and see their culture being destroyed, or at least, they did.” Nymeria’s tone was bitter.

Anders and Astrid didn’t know what to say to that. A tense silence followed.

“You know, my mother was murdered,” Astrid said quietly. I don’t want to go into details, but it was pretty bad. I didn’t get along with her much, after Bethany died.”

Nymeria analyzed the other woman carefully, before offering her a small, companionable smile. “Something tells me we wouldn’t be the people we are today had we not seen death.”

Astrid nodded. “As much as I hate to admit it, I think you’re right.”

Changing the subject to one less personal and sensitive, Nymeria asked a question. “Why is the road so deserted? We’ve seen no one else.”

“The explosion at the Conclave has scared most sane people into leaving the cities over much. And this isn’t the main road. This close to Cumberland, the roads are mostly stone.” Anders answered.    

“There was an explosion?” Nymeria questioned.

“Someone blew up the Conclave where the Divine was trying to broker peace between the mages and templars. It killed everyone there, except if Varric is right, the Herald of Andraste.” Astrid responded

“Are templars the people you said that abuse the mages?” Nymeria asked.

“Yes. Some of them actually want to help and care about their charges, but most of them are right bastards.” Astrid commented.

Anders glanced at the elf. She looked contemplative, and pulled out her journal and began to write.

_Templars- bad, though some may have decent qualities. At odds with their mage charges, so most likely has armor, weapons, or abilities to interrupt magic or cancel it. Physical force needed, Thu’um most likely effective as well._ Nymeria wrote in her small, flowing script.

The lull in the conversation stretched for a time after she put her journal away and the trio road in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any kudos or comments would be much appreciated! :)


	3. Cumberland and Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once in Cumberland, Nymeria truly gets to see what Thedas is all about, and Hawke and Anders run into some old friends.

Finally, the dirt and mud path ended, and they came to a road that was mostly stone and rock. As they turned, they could see the city walls in the distance, and could now smell just a hint of the salty sea air and the city before them. There were a few carts, horses and people walking both to and from the city, though not as much as there should have been.

“Not far now. We should stop and see what sort of ship we can book passage on to Ferelden before we make plans to stay in the city. You’re welcome to come with us, Nymeria, if you want.” Astrid told the elf, who was pulling a hood over her head, hiding her long, slender ears.

“Where and why are you going there?” Her eyes shined under the black hood.

“Ferelden to help out the Inquisition. It’s across the Waking Sea, to the south. It’ll take a week or so on the water, if there’s good weather, less than that.”

“The Inquisition?”

“They’re trying to close the hole in the sky and stop the Mage-Templar War. Varric’s got the Herald of Andraste’s ear, so maybe you can look for this Ancano guy you’re looking for.”

“Yes, I will go with you to Ferelden. It seems like my only, and best option.”

Astrid grinned. Well then Nymeria, welcome to my merry band of misfits."

“There were more of us. Varric was one of them.” A look of sadness flashed over Hawke’s face, and the conversation died out as they reached the gates of the city.

The guards has a foreign coat of arms on their surcoats, but Nymeria committed the crest to memory. You never knew when knowing something like that might come in handy. Once a bit inside the city, the elf observed her companions.

Anders was being obviously paranoid, Hawke was jittery too, Nymeria noticed. She was at home in a huge city, with many pockets ripe for cutting. Besides a perfect heist or a daring burglary, pick pocketing was truly her favourite thing about her less-than-noble profession.

“The docks should be this way.” Astrid remarked. The two horses road side-by-side, not leaving much room between them, so they wouldn’t have to speak loudly.

As they worked their way through the city, they passed the walls of the Alienage. There were a few guards beating a little elven girl, not far from the gate. Right on cue, Nymeria jumped off her horse, and threw the reigns to Anders.

“Stupid little whore! Get under my feet again and you won’t have any!” the guard yelled, grabbing the girl by her filthy hair. Tears were streaming down her dirt-covered face.

“And if you want to keep your pathetic life, you will unhand that girl.” Nymeria practically snarled at him. The other two guards spun around and reached for their swords. The last one threw the girl in a mud puddle and turned on Nymeria.

“You would dare threaten me you little knife-eared bitch?!”

Nymeria was clad in her Guildmaster armour, while it may look unassuming, its pockets had pockets, and that meant she had literal tricks up her sleeves. She pulled back her hood when she dropped from her horse, so her ears were now on full display. Her Stahlrim bow was on her back with the odd looking hawk-feather arrows, her Blade of Woe was strapped to one thigh, Mehrunes’ Razor on the other, and a sword that looked like it was made of ice, Liz Viing, deeply unsettled the guards as they really looked at her. She was an elf, armed to the teeth, and obviously not afraid of a few city guards. And oddly enough, she was taller than all of them. Foolishly, they did not back off. They drew their swords and one said “It’s illegal for any knife-ear to have a weapon. And law says we can gut you.”

They all charged at her, and Nymeria deftly outmanoeuvred them, and grabbed one’s arm as she passed and put him in an arm hold, holding him in front of her, a human shield. When he struggled too much, she snapped his wrist, and threw him into the mud. The man landed on the wrist, and cried out in pain again.

The others charged at her again, she tripped them and sent them tumbling into the mud with their comrade. Having enough of this, Nymeria looked straight at them as they picked themselves up, circling them like a caged wolf, and yelled, _Faas Ru Maar_!

The three standing guards dropped to the ground, screaming in pure terror. The city was loud, but the screams of men truly in complete fear for their lives drowned out everything near. The city around stopped, wondering what could possibly be going on. As a larger crowd gathered, Nymeria strode over to the little elven girl, and scooped her up with ease. “Where is your mother Mal Fahliil?” Nymeria asked the girl. Through choked sobs, she replied “I don’t got one.” A few guards were trying to get through the mob of people. “You there! You’re under arrest!” A rather large guard shouted to her.

Hawke and Anders had taken the horses and were not far away, but far enough to not be involved. They hated not being able to help but they could not risk drawing attention to themselves.

The other guards were still on the ground, crying like babies, although one had regained some of his wits and stammered out “She’s a bloody mage!” The crowd and guards had a look of dread on their faces. Knowing she could not outrun them with the girl, Nymeria gripped her tight, and whispered, “Hang on tight Mal Fahiil.”

Cloaking both herself and the girl in Nocturnal’s Shadow, they literally vanished in front of the crowd. Moving masterfully to Hawke and Anders, they reappeared and quickly made their escape.

They stopped in an alley, not far from the Alienage, but out of the way enough so the guards might not come that far to look for the supposed ‘mage’. The girl was weeping softly, clinging to Nymeria’s armour so hard her knuckles were white. Anders nearly jumped off the horse, and went to tend to the girl’s injuries. One eye was swelling shut, her nose looked broken, and her lip was bleeding.

As Anders approached her, she looked at him with wild eyes, whimpered in terror, and buried her face into Nymeria, trying to stay away from him. Nymeria turned away, keeping herself between Anders and the small elf. Realising his mistake, Anders stepped back towards Hawke.

“Shhhh. It’s alright. He won’t hurt you. No one will hurt you again. He’s going to help make you feel better. Is that alright?” Nymeria asked her in a hushed, soothing tone. She shook her head yes.

In order to free up her hands, she called Hawke over, and the girl still slightly shied away, but let Astrid support most of her as Nymeria set her on the ground.

Kneeling, Nymeria charged up a powerful healing spell, and let the soft golden light wash over the girl, mending her injuries. Her swollen eye reopened and the girl looked around in wonder, watching the magic weave through the air and around her. After a short moment, with Anders standing vigilant to make sure no guards came towards them, the girl was able to get back on her feet.

“Feeling better Mal Fahiil?” Nymeria asked in the same gentle tone. She nodded enthusiastically in return. Hawke helped her back to her feet, and the girl took Nymeria’s hand as she stood up.

“We should sneak back into the Alienage and find her mother.” Anders told them.

“She’s an orphan. We can’t just bring her back to that slum where another bastard guard can nearly beat her to death.” Nymeria defended, squeezing the little one’s hand a little tighter. Having the little girl there made a pang of sadness surge through her. Bryn always said she would be a good mother, considering how she was always playing with the orphans at Honourhall whenever she had a spare second in Riften. They had all taken a shine to her, and more than one wanted to join the guild when they got older.

“I’m sorry Nymeria, but we can’t take her with us.” Hawke chided.

“I know that,” She snapped back in return. “I just,” her tone softened, “I just can’t leave her here. I just cannot sit by and do anything. It’s not in my nature.” Nymeria confessed. Hawke agreed. While she often was a sarcastic, yet charming bitch, when it came to children, she had a huge soft spot, the same for Anders.

The little girl pulled Nymeria’s hand. “My name’s Channa. I don’t want to go back to the Alienage though. It’s a bad place and I don’t like it there. I can never find anything to take to eat.” She explained to them.

Astrid truly felt bad for the poor girl. She knew just how bad the Alienages could be.

Nymeria looked into the girl’s eyes for a half minute. She sighed and drew a long, wickedly curved dagger with carving on the blade, one of the few unenchanted blades she kept on her, a Nordic dagger that was given to her by the Skaal, and gave it to Channa, hilt first. “This is sharp. Don’t use it until you absolutely have to. Don’t let anyone see it. Ok?”

Channa nodded. “Is there anywhere you can stay?” Nymeria asked her.                    

“I can go to the Chantry. The sisters already kinda take care of me and a few others.” Channa told them, griping the dagger tight. Nymeria looked to Anders and Astrid. “While the Chantry has its faults, it is the best place for her.” Anders admitted. Hawke grunted in response. “Alright. We’ll take you there. Where is it from here?”

Channa clutched the dagger to her chest and took Nymeria’s hand and started to lead her down the alleyway. Nymeria stopped her and wrapped the dagger in some leather to conceal it and so she wouldn’t cut herself. Hawke and Anders led the three horses after Nymeria and the little Channa, still clutching Nymeria’s hand. Hawke couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. Anders said Grey Wardens couldn’t have children, which was frankly the reason she already didn’t have children from their over six-year relationship. Anders did want kids, but only if they could live free as they would most likely be mages, and powerful ones at that. After a short walk, and more than a few turns, they arrived at a Chantry courtyard, with sisters and a few Templars milling about. Anders’ body went visibly ridged and began glaring at the armoured men.

“I can go from here. Thank you so so much! I won’t let those mean shems hurt me again!” Channa proclaimed to Nymeria.

Nymeria smiled and let her go. Channa ran over to an older woman in a pink and white robe and took her hand instead. Channa gave Nymeria one last look before disappearing into the Chantry.

 

* * *

 

Now that the girl was gone, Nymeria looked furious. “Those men have no idea how lucky they are that I had not found them in an alley.” The elf muttered through her teeth.

“It breaks my heart that there are not enough people in the world to do right by the innocent. The only people they have are like us, and people like us are few and far between.” Astrid said rather mournfully.

“We need to get moving. Those templars are starting to get suspicious.” Anders observed.

Nymeria took one last look at Channa, who was sitting on the steps of the chantry with one of the sisters, making a small flower crown and grinning, despite the abuse she just underwent, and remounted her horse, following Hawke and Anders.

The rest of the trip to the docks was a rather uneventful one. The conversations were nonexistent; the city was too loud to have pleasant banter. They sold their horses though, and managed to get a good bit of coin for the beasts.

The docks were loud, and reeked of fish, tar, and the sea. Merchants and sailors were everywhere, as well as the occasional whore with said sailors.

Hawke and Anders recognised many of the ships, the different styles the same but uniquely different in their own way. Astrid’s business and adventures brought them to the docks in Kirkwall all the time, and even while working for Athenril and her smugglers, she learned quite a bit about ships and their nationalities.

Most were from Orlais, a few from Antiva and Rivain, one or two from Ferelden, and one from the Anderfels.

They wandered around the docks for a few hours before they had to stop and rest. Their packs were getting unbearably heavy.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” Hawke stopped on the edge of the dock to sit on the post. Anders and Nymeria stopped and came to her side. Anders, usually grim, actually cracked a smile.

“Could we really be that lucky for once?” He asked.

_The Siren’s Call II_ was docked right in front of them. A huge smile found its way on Astrid’s face. She halfway ran down the pier, and stopped at the gangplank. She caught a flash of white hair and elf ears, and her smile grew wider.

“Fenris!” She called.

 

* * *

 

Fenris stopped dead.

No.

She was far away.

She was with the abomination hiding somewhere.

“Fenris!”

No, that was definitely Astrid Hawke calling his name. His mouth quirked in an almost half smile.

“Isabela! I believe I have found our missing hawk.”

 

* * *

 

The instantly recognisable figure of Isabela ran down the gangplank, Fenris and a very exited Merrill in tow.

Nymeria watched at a safe distance as an obvious reunion took place. Anders was a few feet behind Hawke, actually smiling. Hawke and the trouser-less woman embraced tightly, while a white-haired elven man caring a sword that would put the Twins’ to shame, and a smaller, dark-haired elven woman joined them. The man and Hawke hugged, if a bit awkwardly, and the elven woman was picked off her feet and spun around by Astrid.

The human woman clasped Anders’ shoulder, and they murmured greetings. The elven man outright snarled at Anders, and the elven woman waived and offered a warm smile. Astrid beckoned Nymeria over.

“Bela, Daisy, Fenris, this is Nymeria, a friend we met a few days back. Nymeria, this is Captain Isabela,” Astrid winked at the pirate, “Merrill, and Fenris. This is most of the merry band of misfits I was telling you about.”

Before Astrid could say anymore, Isabela put her arms around Hawke’s waist and Anders’ shoulder and led them onto the deck of her ship. The others followed, as did Nymeria.

She would normally not trust so many so readily, but just Hawke’s physical reaction alone to these people showed that she trusted these people, seemingly with her life.   

“Not that we’re happy to see you Hawke, but Andraste’s great flaming ass, what in the void are you doing here?” Isabela now had a look of worry on her face.

“We’re headed to help out Varric in Ferelden.” Anders explained to them.

“Varric in Ferelden? You man to tell me he’s gotten mixed up with the Inquisition?” Isabela asked, incredulous.

“He said in a letter that the Inquisition is trying to talk to the rebel mages. He thought that we would be able to help, that they’d listen to us.” Anders explained.

“Why would they listen to you?” Nymeria asked, practically forgotten in the reunions.

“Er. Well, it’s a bit of a long story,” Astrid mumbled. “There’ll be plenty of time to tell it on the way there.”

“So you just think you can come on my ship and boss me around now?” Isabela snarked to Astrid.

“I’ve pulled your ass out of a fire so many times-“

“Alright, alright. You got me.” the pirate winked and chuckled. “Kitten, why don’t you show our guests to a couple of cabins?” Merrill grabbed Hawke’s hand and began pulling her towards a hatch.     

As Anders and Nymeria followed them, Isabela started barking commands at her men to get them ready to shove off.

_The open sea. Wonderful._ Nymeria thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos appreciated!


	4. The Land of Snow and Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Nymeria and her new companions make their way to Ferelden, those left behind in Skyrim are searching for her.

“Yeah, did you hear about how them mages tried to blow up Winterhold again? Apparently something big is going on.” An old fisherman on the docks of Riften remarked to his companion. “Damn mages. It’s the coward’s weapon, magic is.” His gruff companion commented. They both had the look of old grizzled soldiers.

Brynjolf stirred from his shadowed corner, where he was watching for marks.

_Nym._

Practically sprinting from shadow to shadow, the Nightingale finally made it to the old cemetery, where he pressed the button and quickly ducked inside and climbed down the ladder. Rushing though the Cistern, several other thieves scrambling to get out of the large Nord’s way. Throwing the cupboard open to the Flagon, Brynjolf spotted Delvin Malory, who was chatting up a breton girl with green eyes.

“Bryn, what can I do you for?” the thief turned and asked.

“I’m going to find her. There’s been some sort of explosion in Winterhold.”

Delvin’s face lost its smirk. “Go an’ find her Bryn. Me and Vex’ll hold down the ol’ fort.”

Bryn clapped the man on the shoulder before heading out of the Flagon, though the Ratway.

Brynjolf wove his way through the dark tunnels, the denizens of them leaving him be. Nymeria paid them nicely to let customers through to the Flagon, scaring off any nosy guard and to leave the Guildmembers alone. The short and cramped walk soon ended at the iron gate, sunlight streaming in.     

After using the canals boardwalks to maneuver faster though the city, Brynjolf climbed a set of wooden stairs, two at a time, a short walk away from a gate, and where his horse was stabled. He tossed a few Septims to the stableboy, and quickly mounted, leaving a trail of dust in his wake.

 

* * *

 

After a half hour of hard riding, Brynjolf crossed bridge to Hofkiinyol, where a few of Nymeria’s various Houscarls were on patrol. Lydia, seeing that he was in a hurry, pulled the lever to open the gate, and the nordic thief thundered past. He tossed Rayya the reins and quickly made his way into the manor proper.

Once known as Goldenglow estate, a dragon burned the whole island up in an attack. Nymeria charmed the property off of Maven, and spent most of her amassed fortune and four years to build the huge estate, which she dubbed Homefire in the dragon tongue. It was well stocked, both in food and weapons, and completely self-sufficient. Nymeria hired a gaggle of servants and a few farmers, and it was guarded by her housecarls from all over Skyrim. Not that any bandit would attack it, as Odahviing had taken up residence in a nearby mountain, and often flew over the estate.

“Vriska!”Brynjolf called over to the head servant, who was tidying up the entryway.

“Pack me enough provisions for a trip to Winterhold, plus another week. Also, go to the alchemy store room and grab a basic medic kit, and a kit of potions. Have a fresh horse readied, and have my supplies on the horse.”

The older nord bowed slighly. “Yes m’lord, If I might ask for the rush?”

“I’m going to look for Nym.” Brynjolf clenched his jaw. His gut said she was in trouble, more so than usual.

“Of course.” Vriska’s tone made it clear she was concerned about Nymeria as well. Both of them headed deeper into the manor, Vriska one way and Brynjolf another, the older woman’s voice sounded though the house as she barked out commands to get Brynjolf underway.

He avoided the main stairs, instead taking the quicker route though Nymeria’s study and up her personal staircase that climbed the up from the first floor to the third.

Their quarters were spacious, as Nymeria shared his taste for the finer things in life. The large bed was seated up on a raised dais at the far end, facing the glass double doors and large windows that led to the balcony. A roaring fire was going in the large hearth that heated their quarters.

Ducking into his closet, Brynjolf grabbed his Nightingale leathers, a few change of clothes, his thick winter cloak, and his spare weapons, hurriedly putting them in his leather pack. Time was of the essence. It would take more time than he would like to get to Winterhold at this time of the year, and half a day was gone already.

Brynjolf knew more than anyone that Nymeria could take care of herself, but he couldn’t shake this feeling of dread. The last time he felt like this, Nymeria rode off on the back of a dragon to defeat Alduin. The time before, if Karliah hadn’t been there…

 

* * *

 

_He searched for days. They had been gone too long. Mercer came back, announced that she was a traitor, he killed her, and he left again._

_Brynjolf was confused. She breathed guild. There was no way that she’d betray them._

_So Brynjolf went to Snow-Veil Sanctum. Outside, he found a dead horse, frozen stiff, half eaten by wolves and mostly covered in snow. He could just barely make out the traces of a camp, but was weeks old. He should have paid more attention to the lass’s hunting and tracking lessons. Inside, he found disarmed traps, dead draugr, and quite a bit of blood frozen over in the deepest parts of the ruins. It was several weeks old, but he found no body. Mercer said he’d left her traitorous carcass to rot in the old crypt, but that was clearly not the case. No body meant she could still be alive._

_He asked around Winterhold if anyone had seen a half bosmer half altmer girl or a dunmer with purple eyes, but came up empty._

_Defeated and alone, he made the journey back to Riften, all the while thinking about all the horrible scenarios playing though his head about what could have happened, and the closer he got to his home city, the regret of now telling the her how much she meant to him. Then, a few miles from the city, the nord decided that he would make Mercer tell him what happened._

_But Mercer was missing._

_After a week of stewing over what in oblivion was going on, the lass hobbled back in the Flagon, a shadowy figure supporting her._

_Brynjolf longed to rush to her, but then he recognized the person she was with._

_So many thoughts ran though his head, but the lass was in the worst shape he had ever seen her. Even after almost a month since she was ‘killed’, she looked nearly half dead._

_After everything was explained, he took her from Karliah, and led her to her quarters, though he changed his mind and led her farther down to his. Hers were small, cramped in a small alcove down the hall that was reserved for the thieves’ sleeping quarters. She’d do better to recover in a more open space._

_When he closed the door and sat her on the bed, she broke down in tears, and told him everything. Who and what she really was, how terrified she was, lying paralyzed on the floor, and when Mercer stabbed her…_

_She showed him the scar on her abdomen, her caramel skin was discolored and darker where the wound was. Apparently he coated his blade with an unknown toxin, one that even an alchemical master at the college couldn’t determine what it was derived from; therefore no antidote could be administered._

_The healers at the college worked day and night for several days before she was stable, and gave her strong healing potions to lessen the pain. But the scar and the poison’s effects would linger for the rest of her life._

_He sat there and held her, kissing her forehead and whispering reassuring words to her. Nymeria was half-asleep when she told him that she loved him. All he could do was sit there in shock as she drifted off to sleep._

_The next morning, he was stiff from sitting all night, but content that she slept through the night; her night terrors were horrible. When she woke, Brynjolf told her that he loved her too. She was confused at first, wondering when she said it when he hushed her by pulling her in for their second kiss._

_When they parted, she gifted him with the dazzling smile that she never showed._

 

* * *

She had to be fine. She had gone through too much to not be.

Slinging the pack over his shoulder, Brynjolf hurried back down the stairs and out of the manor, where a boy held the reigns of his horse, a great white beast. His packs, along with a tent and bedroll, were strapped to the back of the saddle. Thanking the boy, he made to mount the horse when the thundering of hooves reached his ears.

Turning towards the gate, a grey and black horse came through the gate, the unmistakable figure of Vilkas atop it, and he looked pissed, more so than usual when he knew Brynjolf was around.

“Where is she?” the Companion demanded. He stayed mounted, his horse pawing the ground restlessly.

“The lass is in Winterhold last I knew. I’m going to look for her. There’s been some sort of explosion.” Brynjolf disliked the man, but he was Nym’s Shield-Brother, so he deserved to know.

Vilkas scowled at the man. “I’m coming with.”

“As long as you keep up.” Brynjolf shot back.

“ _You_ keep up.” The enormous nord turned his horse and took back off though the gates.

Cursing, he jumped on his horse and went after him.

 

* * *

 

It didn’t take long to catch up with Vilkas. His horse was already tiring; the thief wouldn’t doubt if the Companion had pushed the beast without stopping from Whiterun.

Riding up beside him, Brynjolf grabbed the reins and forced Vilkas to slow down before he ruined the horse.

He glared at the thief. “We need to get to Winterhold!”

“I know you care, I know you have the same bad gut feeling that I do, but you need to slow down and think. Don’t push the horse and kill it. Then we’ll really have problems.”

Vilkas let out a defeated sigh. “Alright. You-“another sigh “You’re right.

_It must have almost killed him to say that._

Now slowed to a light canter, and him not snarling and yelling at him like a caged wolf, Brynjolf got a better look at Nym’s Shield-Brother. His eyes had dark bags, like he hadn’t slept in several days or had restless sleep. He knew from the lass that all werewolves had restless sleep, plagued by night terrors or their beast blood simply keeping them up, but this was different.

Nymeria only slept soundly and though the night when she was with him. Now, after four years of being near her so much, he found it difficult to sleep without her as well. The red-haired nord was more than well aware of Vilkas’s feelings towards Nymeria, but to look as bad as he did? Though, if it had been months without even a word, he supposed that he would look more like a draugr himself.

A few hours passed in uneventful, tense silence.

“So, how are the Companions? Is there much work?”

At first, it seemed like Vilkas didn’t hear him, or what was more likely, ignoring him.

After a few moments, he answered. “Work is work. At least ours in honorable, and helps others.”

This argument again.

“You do realise that Nym is in charge of our whole outfit, right? She built us back up and-“

“Because _you_ charmed her. Because _you_ drug her into that life. She was an orphan, had nothing. Of course the wealthy life appealed to her. She saw a man, living a wealthy and free lifestyle, and leaped for it. Nevermind that he’s slept his way through most of the province. Tell me, how is the monogamous life?” Vilkas spat

Brynjolf couldn’t stop it before it came out. “How’s the life of knowing that the woman you love is having her bed warmed by another man?”

Suddenly, Brynjolf was in the dirt and snow, and felt like he got kicked by a giant, or one of those giant metal automatons that Nymeria _always_ seems to find in Dwemer runs.

Vilkas had leaped from his horse and tackled Brynjolf off his own. Though he was dazed, his instincts kicked in, and before a steel-clad fist could collide with his jaw, Brynjolf had a very sharp knife at the nord’s neck.

“You claim to love her, but instead of accepting her decision, you’re openly hostile to me. Do you have any idea how much that hurts her? You’re her _brother_ and you can’t have enough self-control to at least act civil, for her sake.”

Vilkas’s hand lowered as he deflated. Brynjolf removed his dagger from the other man’s neck and quickly got to his feet, brushing the snow off of himself.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you, but I can’t help it. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter.”

Shoulders slumped, he strode to his horse, who waited patiently for its master.

Feeling like at least _something_ was accomplished, Brynjolf did the same, and they made their way down the road again, heading north.

 

* * *

 

By nightfall, they were at Shor’s Stone. The gods had seemed fit to grace the two men with a shower of snow and sleet, so they were absolutely freezing and soaked to the bone. Vilkas rode on in stoic silence, and for the sake of his own pride, as did Brynjolf, though he did wear a grimace that might have scared off a horde of draugr if there was one around.

Had he been traveling with Nymeria, he would be very dry and not soaked to the bone. Nym loved the rain, but on a Skyrim summer afternoon, where it was warm enough to not wear a cloak in the southern parts of the province. Summer snows and frosts were still common in the Rift and in Falkreath hold, but the summers were not hot like ones in her youth. He marveled at her explanations of the Imperial City. Having never been out of Skyrim, the nord couldn’t imagine a hot summer.

They tied off their horses in the small stable near the inn, and brought their packs in with them. Brynjolf knew the owner of the inn, and knew that he’d send his son to come take care of their horses.

They shook as much water from themselves as they could before getting closer to the fire. Brynjolf greeted the owner of the inn, Aldor, and asked for a room and hot meal. Aldor was an old friend, and this inn was a refuge for thieves. Brynjolf was given the key for the room reserved for members of the guild, and his meal was on the house. Smirking at the Companion, Vilkas asked for his own room and a meal, and forked over the gold to pay for it. The nord grabbed his bowl of venison and potato stew and made his way to the small room, where Brynjolf heard the turn and click of a lock.

Satisfied he wouldn’t have to deal with Vilkas’s grumblings and glares for the rest of the night, Brynjolf went to his own room, and changed out of his wet leathers and into a loose grey tunic and black trousers that managed to stay dry. He also checked the thief cache for any valuables, placed a few spare lockpicks and a few gold into it, and put it back in its hiding spot, a loose board on the floor that had the mark for ‘cache’ carved on it.

Returning to the main hall of the small inn, Brynjolf sat at the counter on a worn wooden stool, and ate his stew. It wasn’t the best, but it was filling and warmed him up from the freezing rain.

“So, what brings you to Shor’s Stone Brynjolf?” the old owner questioned.

“On my way to Winterhold. Looking for someone.” He replied after swallowing a mouthful of stew.

“Did that girl of yours run off?” there was a mischievous twinkle in the old man’s eyes. Nymeria and him stopped in the inn almost every time they headed north towards Windhelm, Dawnstar, or Winterhold. Aldor knew that they loved each other dearly, and that she wouldn’t just run off.

Brynjolf chuckled, despite the twisting of his gut over what happened to her. “Nah. The lass just had to go and get herself in trouble again.”

Aldor nodded. “Strange seeing you with someone in plate armour. Say, isn’t he a Companion?”

“He’s the lass’s Shield-Brother,” and lowering his voice so that Vilkas couldn’t use his wolf-enhanced hearing, “and unwelcome tag along. He isn’t too fond of me. I’m sure you can guess why.”

Aldor raised a grey, bushy eyebrow, and chuckled. “She does inspire loyalty. She’d make a great general or queen.”

_Ah. Yes. This again._

With the stalemate, Neither Ulfric or Elisif had made any more claims on the high throne, and many of the common folk were whispering about putting forward the dragonborn as High Queen. The lass was charismatic, there was no doubting that, but _High Queen_? Brynjolf knew her best, and knew that a throne was the last thing she wanted.

“I’m sure there’s old nord laws that say she can’t. If anything, it’s because she’s not a nord.”

“She’s dragonborn. She’s the Stormcrown for a reason. If she isn’t High Queen, she’ll be Empress.”

Treason was a very blurred line, and in Stormcloak territory, Aldor wasn’t in danger of being accosted by Imperial soldiers, but such talk was still dangerous.

Brynjolf gave the old man a look that indicated the conversation was over, and finished his stew.

After tipping Aldor’s son for looking after his and Vilkas’s horse, bade Aldor and his wife goodnight, Brynjolf went into his room, locking the door behind him.

He walked over to his bed, the floor creaking where a secret hatch that hid an escape route though the mines, the shadowmark worn and scuffed but still noticeable to the trained eye.

Deciding he was too tired to sharpen his daggers, the thief climbed into the furs and fell into a restless sleep, his dreams plaguing him with increasingly horrid scenarios of Nym’s fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my mind, the Cistern is far bigger than in the game. The hallway to the training room extends to the left, and several small hallways branch out, making up the theives' quarters. 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are much loved!


	5. The Land of Snow and Shadows, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brynjolf and Vilkas travel to Winterhold, and discover things are much worse than they thought.

Vilkas’s banging on the door to his room woke him up. Groaning, Brynjolf pulled on his shirt and staggered to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open, glaring at the scowling Companion.  

“Get dressed. The rain’s let up so we’re moving. Don’t dawdle.” He spun on his heel, and went over to Aldor, who looked none-too-happy to be up at this hour. The fire pit in the centre of the inn was burning low, and the sun had not yet peaked though the small, opaque windows that the inn had.

Grumbling about freaking wolves and annoying brutes, Brynjolf pulled on his guild armour, which was now thankfully dry.

Buckling on the last buckle on his belt, securing his daggers and putting his coin purse in its special hidden pouch, he grabbed his pack and left the room, meeting Vilkas in the main hall, who was eating some porridge. Setting his pack down Brynjolf sat on the same stool from the night before, and Aldor set a bowl in front of him. Seeing that Vilkas was nearly finished, Brynjolf ate quickly. The Companion was always grumpy, more so to him, and even grumpier in the morning, it seemed.

After he was done eating, Vilkas grabbed his own pack, paid Aldor for the porridge, and went to the stables to ready his horse.

It took a few minutes for Brynjolf to finish his breakfast, and he grabbed his pack, bade Aldor farewell, and left the older man a tip for being so accommodating.

Once out the door to the inn, Brynjolf was greeted with the brisk spring air of Skyrim. The sun’s rays were just beginning to peak over the many mountains, so the small mining village of Shor’s Stone was rather dark except for the few street lanterns that let the late passer-by see clearer, as if two moons and the northern lights Skyrim was famous for didn’t light the night up already.

When he approached the stable, Vilkas was putting his saddle back on the huge white and grey stallion. His own mare waited patiently in her stall.

The work of saddling the horse was methodic, and he was both relieved and surprised how quickly he could do it now. Nym had taught him, after finding out he was practically useless at it. When he made trips out of the city, he paid someone to take care of his horses, which were more stolen than bought, so he never bothered to learn. Several years before he met Nymeria, he hardly made trips out of Riften, or Riften hold.

Vilkas seemed slightly impressed that Brynjolf saddled and packed his horse as quickly as he did, and soon, they were both underway, the some larger rays of the morning sun bathing the small valley in warming light.

It would take several days still to get to Winterhold, with no unforeseen complications, and if they ate in their saddles.

Like the day before, there wasn’t much talking between the two men. Even if he wasn’t a stuck up, grumpy prick who tried his damndest to steal Nym from him, Brynjolf knew he wouldn’t care for Vilkas. They were too different. Vilkas went out and caught thieves like him who stole some rich noble’s heirloom or something. They were glorified and honorable mercenaries, not that being a thief were any better, but Nym had really turned the guild around.

Once they ignored the beggars and orphans, because she reprimanded them. In the lass’s words, _“You’re all a bunch of selfish bastards.”_ Now, under her leadership, the beggars are her spies and the orphans in Honorhall have the option to be part of the guild when they’re older. She spends quite a bit of money, but the less fortunate eat, the poor are not marks, and certain families had turned their houses and businesses into safe houses for guild members. When Brynjolf, Delvin, and Vex asked where she got the idea, the merely smirked, shrugged her shoulders and said she took a page out of the Grey Fox’s book and how they ran the guild in the Imperial City. The rest of the guild was skeptical at first, but after the first few years, everyone realised how useful having all these spies and contacts was.

Brynjolf could see Vilkas glance at him more than several times, and it rather irritated him that he was doing it.

“What’s your problem now?”

“What are your intentions with her?” Vilkas didn’t miss a beat.

Brynjolf groaned. “It’s not really your business.”

“It _is_ my business. She’s my Shield-Sister. I care about her.”

“ _Clearly_ ,” Brynjolf sighed. “Look, when the lass decides that she’d rather stay in one place for more than a few weeks than go off gallivanting across the damn province, I might ask her to marry me. I don’t particularly care if we get married. Nothing will change how we are now, or how much I love her.”

Vilkas seemed as if he was not surprised. “And if you were to have any children,” Brynjolf noticed how his voice caught on the word children, “they’d be bastards.”

“At least I’d be around. That’s a lot more than what most bastards can say. I’m not a holy man, Vilkas. I’ll marry her if she wants, but it’s her call. I’m content of just being with her.”

“It figures, you’d be afraid of commitment.”

The red-haired thief was getting angry. “Look, we both love her. I get that. It wouldn’t surprise me if more than us were in love with her. She’s enigmatic, it’s who she is. She’s touched so many lives, it’s almost impossible to not to. But you can’t keep fighting the issue of her wanting to be with me. It’s going to keep hurting if you don’t move on.”

Vilkas gritted his teeth. “I can’t just _move on_. It’s not that simple. I can’t expect you to understand.”

A look of understanding overcame Brynjolf’s handsome features. He let out a sigh and rubbed a palm across his face, rubbing some of the sleep from his eyes. _It’s too early to deal with this._

“It’s a wolf thing, isn’t it? Don’t give that look, Nym tells me everything. By every natural wolf law, she’s yours, isn’t she?”

Vilkas was quiet, but rage emanated off of him.

“She told me about it one day, when I asked her why she was so protective and got so jealous. She told me that wolves sometimes find someone they want as their mate, and then no one else can have them. They can’t control it. I’m her mate, according to the wolf.”

“She’s been mine from the moment I met her.” Vilkas said so quietly, Brynjolf could hardly hear him.

“Nocturnal save me,” the thief muttered, “I can’t fault you for something you can’t control. I’m not saying we be friends, but for her sake, can we at least be civil? I would hate for her to cut you out of her life over an argument or something equally stupid.”   

“Even if you hadn’t stolen the woman I love from me, I couldn’t like you.”

“Fair enough. I don’t like you either.”

The two men stared at each other for a short moment, before Brynjolf spoke. “Truce, for her sake?”

Vilkas nodded. “I’ll try my best. But I can’t help my nature.”

“I wouldn’t expect any different.”

Now they fell in a silence, one that seemed less full of malice or hatred for one another. Nym would be ecstatic to see the two of them work out their problems, but the thief knew that it would be difficult to not antagonize each other.

They traveled for another hour, in near complete silence, minus Vilkas commenting on a nearby mine or barrow.

It was midmorning when they heard the sound of galloping horses, and several of them. Vilkas reached for his greatsword that was sheathed on his saddle, and Brynjolf reached for one of his throwing daggers.

The horses thundered down the stone path, three of them in total. One rider was in a blood red cloak, astride a white horse. Another was in flowing dark blue and grey robes, a top a grey and black horse, and the last was on a dark brown horse, a white cloak streaming behind them.

They slowed as they neared Vilkas and Brynjolf, and now they had a better look at them. The one I the crimson cloak was an Altmer, an ornate greatsword strapped to the saddle. She was clad in rather ornate, Altmeri armor, though it was nothing like what the Thalmor wears. The man in the robes was a Dunmer, with greying hair and a weathered face. The last was another woman, an elf who looked to be Bosmeri, but with auburn hair and eyes blue like the sky. She too, was clad in armor, and ornate armor at that. The red-haired elf spoke first.

“You are Brynjolf of the Thieves Guild and Vilkas of the Companions, correct?” her voice was light like a melody, and equally pleasing to the ears.

Brynjolf and Vilkas exchanged a look, and Vilkas spoke. “We are, why are you asking?”

This time, the Altmer woman spoke. “We know where she is.” Her voice was little emotion to it, and had a hard edge to it.

“Where’s the lass then? Are you from the College?” Brynjolf questioned.

The Dunmer spoke. “She’s on another plane of Oblivion.” His voice was gruff, like he was truly an ashlander, and had spent more time than he should near the Dunmer’s volcanic homeland.

“What?” Vilkas’s voice was calm, even, and showed none of the surprise that Brynjolf was feeling. 

“We cannot speak of it here. The open road isn’t secure. Anyone could stumble across us out here. It is my understanding that you and the Dragonborn have a home outside Riften?” The red-haired elf gestured to Brynjolf.

“Aye. Though I think some sort of explanation is in order. I’m not just going to invite heavily armored strangers into my home.”

She nodded. “I understand. My name is Valasha.”

Then, the Dunmer spoke. “I am Azarath Salvu.” He inclined his head slightly.

Finally, the Altmer spoke. “I am Farandare Larethian.”

“Names still make you strangers.”

The Dunmer huffed. “We’ve come from very far away to tell you this. If we wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”

“Azarath, that’s enough. We need them to trust us,” Valasha reprimanded the Dunmer “Listen, you just have to trust us. I will explain everything. You have my word as a Knight of the Nine.”

Brynjolf and Vilkas exchanged another glance.

“Fine. But don’t try anything. The lass’s wouldn’t build an estate without the proper defenses.”

“We know about the dragon.” Farandare commented.

_Who in Oblivion are these people?_

“Enough chitchat. We’re losing daylight.” The Dunmer wizard spurred his horse on, leaving his companions and the two confused men behind. When the other two did the same, Vilkas and Brynjolf took off after them as well, back the way they came.

 

* * *

 

It was nightfall by the time the group reached Hofkiinyol. Brynjolf came back to a very confused household, who were now scrambling to make up rooms for their visitors.

They handed their horses to the stable servants, who would bring their packs into the manor.

“We can discuss everything in my study. Follow me.” Brynjolf hoped that Nym being on another plane wasn’t as big of a deal as he thought it was.

He had picked up on some magical knowledge from the lass, but how the universe worked? He wasn’t so sure. He did know, however, that since the Dragonfires in the Imperial City were permanently lit, it was harder to make portals to other planes, and the Daedra’s direct influence was weakened.

His study was across the hall from Nym’s. A fireplace dominated one wall in the rectangular room, and his desk was positioned diagonally from the corner across from the door. Bookshelves lined the walls, which also held an assortment of oddities that he had ‘collected’ over the years and liked too much to fence. A large rug covered the stone floor, and carvings adorned the few wooden supports in the room.

Once inside, Brynjolf closed the door, and turned to their new ‘friends’.

“Alright. Out with it, the lot of you.”

Valasha was the one who spoke. “I have been watching Nymeria for a time now, ever since she killed her first dragon outside Whiterun, as all the other princes has.”

“Other princes? You mean the Daedra?” Vilkas questioned.

The elf sighed and looked to her companions, then back to the two Nords.

“You must keep an open mind about what I am about to tell you.” Vilkas gave her a steely gaze, and Brynjolf crossed his arms.

“I am Sheogorath, though, not in this form.”

“You’re jesting.” Brynjolf said after a short, stunned silence.

Her eyes flashed an unnatural yellow with cat slits, before reverting back to their normal, endless sky blue.

“I was, once, the Champion of Cyrodiil. I stumbled across a gate to the Shivering Isles, and became Sheogorath’s personal champion, and stopped the Greymarch. As a reward, he gave me his powers, and reverted back to his true form, Jyggalag, the Prince of Order. I took the Madgod’s power and created my own Daedric form, and kept my mortal one, so I could still walk on the mortal plane.”

Not saying anything, Brynjolf casually walked behind his desk, dug around in a drawer, and pulled out a bottle of Black-Briar Mead. He took a generous gulp, and passed it to Vilkas, who did the same.

“This is madness.” The Companion muttered.

“She’s the one that found the two of us. Trouble in the name of a power-hungry Thalmor is planning on wreaking havoc here when he’s done with this other plane.” Azarath said cynically.

Farandare glared at him. “Don’t blame the Altmer for the Thalmor. They’re a mockery of the great Aldmeri Dominion.”

Vilkas bristled at that. While he cared not for the civil war, he despised the Thalmor.

Seeing this, Farandare turned to him. “Allow me to clarify. I was a part of the first Aldmeri Dominion, from the Second Era. We may have fought the Nords of the Ebonheart Pact, but by the end, we were all comrades in arms against Molag Bal.”

“The Second Era? Daedra can time travel?” Brynjolf questioned.   

“No. I’m the Vestige. I have no soul, so I cannot die.”

“Right…” This was getting to be too much for Brynjolf. The lass was the one that knew all about the magic and impossible things, not him. It took longer than he’d like to admit to come to terms with the fact that she was Dragonborn, that the woman he loved so deeply had the power of the gods.

“If we are introducing ourselves officially, then I am the Nerevarine.” Azarath proclaimed.

Brynjolf grabbed the bottle from Vilkas, and took another generous swig.

“So, I have three of Tamriel’s greatest heroes in my study, looking for Nym? Have I left anything out?”

“I know this must be hard to swallow, but in a situation as serious as this, we had to be upfront about who we are. It’d raise too many questions later, and give you a reason not to trust us. We’re all on the same side.” Valasha pleaded with them.

Vilkas spoke. “I believe you.”

“Aye. As do I. Now, where is she? Do you know if she’s safe?”

“I know she’s on another plane of Oblivion, one that the Daedra haven’t gone near in several thousand years. The magic there is unstable. Beyond that, I know nothing of it. I _do_ know however, that she is alive. I ventured as close as I dared, and could sense two very distinct magical energies, one is the Eye of Magnus and the other is Nymeria.”

Both Nords breathed a sigh of relief.

“So how do we get to her?” Vilkas’s mind was already trying to figure out a plan of action.

Farandare spoke. “Valasha will create a portal to the Shivering Isles, where we will then go to the other plane, via a much more stable portal.”

“It may very well be a while before we are able to return to Tamriel, so I would suggest getting what arms and armor you need.” Valasha instructed.

“Do we have time to contact Serana? She and the lass are thicker than thieves. And she’s a formidable opponent. I might do us well to have her along.” Brynjolf questioned.

“She’s living north of Solitude, correct?”

“Aye.”

“I can summon a small portal to get us there faster. Time is of the essence.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? You’ve taxed yourself quite a bit already.” The Dunmer’s words seemed sincere, but his tone and lack of expression made it seem like he didn’t care all that much.

“I’ll be fine, thank you.” Valasha replied.

“I was packed for a lengthy trip. We can go if the rest of you are ready.” The thief informed them.

“As am I. We can leave immediately.” Vilkas added.

“Very well. If you’d all stand back a little…”

 

* * *

 

Brynjolf decided right away that he _hated_ portals.

They all landed on the frozen shore of Castle Volikar, heavy packs over their cloaked shoulders.

The island looked deserted, as it should be.

The Dawnguard had slain everything on the island, with the exception of Serana and her mother, who was in her hidden tower. Now, the vampire mother and daughter were the only inhabitants of the huge castle and island. 

Pushing open one of the heavy wooden and steel doors, Brynjolf called out. “Serana? It’s Brynjolf and some friends. The lass’s in trouble.”

The great hall was silent, and empty. After waiting a few moments, Brynjolf was about to call out again, when a figure emerged from the shadows of the balcony behind the head table.

Waking deeper into the hall and stopping near the center, Brynjolf looked up to the vampire princess.

“Nym’s in trouble again? I was wondering why she hadn’t made any house calls.” The vampire joked.

“She’s been taken to another plane of Oblivion. We figured we could use your help.” The thief asked.

Serana smirked. “Every rescue party needs a necromancer and a vampire to even things out. Especially when traveling with a couple of wolves.” She turned and disappeared from view.

Vilkas nervously cleared his throat.

“No need to be ashamed, Vilkas. We’re comrades in arms.” Farandare offered him a small smile.

“I didn’t want to say anything with the others around.”

“No need. I’ve never hidden my nature. You don’t have to with us.”

Serana came back to the balcony, only this time she was carrying her own pack and was wearing a thick black hooded cloak and a scarf around her neck.

“Let’s get to it then.”

 

* * *

 

Outside the castle, after brief introductions were made, Valasha stepped towards the frigid sea. It was quite dark, as clouds covered Masser and Secunda, and the brilliant lights were absent as well. Serana, Azarath, and Farandare summoned balls of light that danced around the group.

Valasha took a deep breath in through her nose and exhaled though her mouth, shivering as the wind from the sea of ghosts whipped at her cloak.

Light poured from her outstretched hands, and after a moment, a portal appeared.

The elven woman sagged a bit, but kept upright.

“Go, quickly. It won’t stay open for long.” She ordered.

They all did as they were told, not wasting any time in jumping into the portal.

Brynjolf found his insides wanting to be turned inside out again, before finding solid footing in the middle of a throne room. Valasha was the last to come through, and the portal immediately closed. The elf managed to stagger a few feet, before she collapsed into a high back cushioned stone throne, one that had its color scheme split down the middle. A balding man in very strange clothes appeared, offering a crystal goblet of some sort of potion to her.

“Thank you, Haskill.” She murmured.

The color started to come back to her skin, and she didn’t look like she was going to faint at any second.

After his head stopped swimming so badly, the thief got a better look at the room he was in. The ceiling was vaulted, and the room was enormous. It was split in half, one side had very bright colors and accents, and the other was darker and dreary. A huge tree was behind the high-backed throne, the flora growing on it was halved like the rest of the room. Daedric guards were stationed at every door, grey skinned and golden skinned women with wicked looking arms and armour.

One of each of the Daedra was positioned at either side of the throne. Both of them bristled and drew their weapons. Arrows were drawn and trained on them.

“My lord,” the grey skinned Daedra at the throne spoke, her voice deeper than expected. “This woman is an enemy to you and the Isles.”

“Autkendo, that’s enough. All of them are my friends and companions. Under no circumstances are they to be harmed or accosted in any way while they are here.” Valasha commanded. All of the Daedra immediately sheathed their weapons and resumed their guard.

“Haskill, would you show them to their rooms?” The elf was slumped in the throne, one arm on the armrest, holding her head and rubbing her temple.

“Of course, my lord. If you’d follow me please.”

“Valasha, a good night’s sleep will do you wonders.” Azarath informed her. The elf gave him a slight nod before getting to her feet.

The balding man led them through a door, and down several winding hallways. Brynjolf noticed how Valasha was not with them.

“This is your room, my lady.” The man, Haskill, indicated Serana, who stepped into the room.

“Yours, Lady Larethien.”

“Thank you, Haskill.” Faradare inclined her head, and disappeared into her room as well.

Haskill indicated the room across the hall from Serana. “Your room sir.” He gestured to Azarath. The Dunmer went into his room and promptly slammed the door.

“Charming” Haskill grumbled.

“These last two are yours, good sirs.” The man indicated the room across from Farandare, and the one next to it. Brynjolf took the one on the end, and Vilkas the one in between the Dunmer wizard and the thief.

With a bow, Haskill turned on his heel and left.

After a few minutes, Brynjolf could hear Farandare leave her room and go to Serana’s, the thief guessed to explain all what was going on.

All of a sudden, Brynjolf realized exactly how exhausted he was. The dizziness, headache and adrenaline had worn off from all the teleporting, not to mention how emotionally taxing the last several days had been, so the exhaustion had finally set in. He didn’t even really notice anything about the room, other than the large feather bed that occupied it. He dropped his pack and took off his cloak, laying it on the stone chest at the end of the bed. Not caring about decency in a freaking Daedric Princes’ palace, he stripped out of his leather guild armor, and crawled into the soft and fluffy bed in his smalls.

While he was still very worried about Nym, sheer exhaustion made him fall asleep almost immediately, into a deep and dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Brynjolf was woken by a knock on his door, a far cry from the banging and yelling he had been woken with the day before. It was Serana, and she told him through the door that the rest of them were eating and then leaving to go to this strange plane.

He quickly got dressed and ready, grabbing his things and closing the door behind him. A gold Daedra led him back the winding hallways to the throne room, where a table had been set up, and a mouth-watering breakfast served.

He sat at the last open chair, next to Serana, on the end. She wasn’t eating anything, as to be expected.

Ravenous, the Nord filled his plate with all sorts of fruit, and a few hunks of sausage. All of it was delicious. After his first plate, the red head noticed that the throne was vacant, and Valasha was nowhere to be seen. Before he was about to ask if anyone had seen her, all of the Daedra had snapped to attention. From behind the great tree, a white-haired woman circled around it, her brightly colored and ornate robes trailing behind her. She walked with a cane, and plopped herself down in the throne. It took Brynjolf a short moment to recognize Valasha, though this was clearly no longer the Champion of Cyrodiil, but Sheogorath.

“Alright my dearies, hurry up if we’re to be off and save the dragon from the princess!” Her voice had changed as well, it had a different lit, it was no longer soothing and intelligent, but shrill, harsh, and had an edge of well, madness.

She grinned maniacally at the group. Haskill had appeared at her side.

Deciding to not keep the Madgod waiting, they all stopped eating, knowing they had had enough to keep them satisfied for a while.

With a wave of her hand, the table disappeared, and when they all stood, the chairs did as well.

Sheogorath stood up from her throne, and crossed to the center of the large throne room, cane in hand.

She tapped it three times on the ground, said something in Daedric, and snapped her fingers. A bright green portal appeared, one that was much bigger than the last two Brynjolf had had the misfortune of going through. Suddenly, all the food he just ate seemed like a bad idea.

With another snap of her fingers, and her hair gradually changed back to its natural, lustrous auburn shade, her cane disappeared, and her robes morphed into her armor. The elf looked much better after resting, and she looked ready to take on whatever awaited them beyond the portal.

“It will close on its own. But that doesn’t mean we should dally. Who’s first?” She asked, a smile on her lips.

Farandare stepped into it first, quickly followed by Azarath. Serena shrugged and went next. Vilkas looked uneasy for a second, then determination settled on his features before he followed the vampire.

“She’ll be alright Brynjolf. We’ll find her.” Valasha gave him a reassuring smile and clap on the shoulder, before gently pushing him towards the portal.

Taking a breath, he stepped in, and went into this unknown plane of Oblivion.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of this story, and his character, the cure for lycanthropy can only be completed after death, so Vilkas is still a werewolf.  
> Comments and Kudos are always loved :)


	6. The Waking Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The short journey across the Waking Sea, and Nymeria learns Hawke and Anders's secret.

Three days on this damn boat and she was going insane.

Most of her time was spent in the crow’s nest, with her journal, writing all what she had observed and seen, as well as sketching things and people from memory. She sketched Hawke and Anders, and a few of the others.

Her journal was one of the only constants in her life. Every year, since the day she escaped Helgen, she would write of what was happening, and sketched the fantastic things she saw or caught her fancy. The leather-bound journal was only about half full, but it was well worn and had parchment and scraps of cloth sticking out of it, events written and drawn on if she didn’t have the journal or the drawing was simply too large. Nymeria often flipped back though the book, remembering things she had forgotten or had forgotten on purpose.

She flipped back to a month before, to the date the day before she had gotten the summons from Savos Aren, asking if she could take a look at the magical artifact they had found deep in the ruins of Sarthaal. There, on the pages, were stunning, albeit a bit smudged, likenesses of Brynjolf. Nymeria had done a studies of his face, while he was busy so he hadn’t a clue, and his likeness stared back at her from several different places over several pages. His kind eyes, his weather-worn skin and stubble, his very kissable lips, and his smile, all captured and put on the pages of her journal. She missed him dearly. This had been one of the longest times she had been gone since they met; he had even came to Solsthiem with her, especially after finding out that another Dragonborn was alive and after her.

Dragonborn. That was still a problem. Nymeria had deduced that Hawke and Anders just assumed the shout was some strange, off-plane magic, and not a power granted to her by the Gods.

The sun was beginning to set, so Nymeria closed the beaten leather journal and climbed down the mast, landing gracefully on her feet. Hawke was waiting at the bottom for her, leaning against some crates.

“About time you got down from there. Are you really that bored down here with the rest of us?” The mage chuckled.

Nymeria gave her a small, half smile. “I prefer the wild, untamed land or the wild, untamed city. Not the quiet ocean where there’s hardly anything to do.”

“Fair enough. I’m not fond of the sea myself. Once spent two weeks in a cargo hold, in a pretty bad storm,” Astrid continued “Bela said we should be docked in port by tomorrow afternoon. We had some good wind and fortune so we’re a few days ahead of schedule.”

“Good. I’m about to go mad on this boat.”

“She’s a bloody ship!” Isabella called from the wheel. Astrid chuckled at her friend’s outburst.

“Well, before we dock, Anders and I have discussed a few things, and we both agrees that you know a few things before we go chasing after the Inquisition, things that will come up and need to be explained the right way.”

“Fair enough.” Nymeria was intrigued now. What secrets could they be hiding?

 

* * *

 

Hawke and Anders’s cabin was small, but well lit.

Astrid sat at the small table, and motioned for Nymeria to sit as well. Anders was nowhere to be seen.

“Alright. I can’t exactly give the story justice, but you need to know some things before I get to the real problem. A lot of stuff has happened over the last ten years or so, and it’s only fair, as most of Thedas knows my life story anyway.”

Nymeria nodded.

Astrid took a deep breath, and began her tale.

 

* * *

 

It was several hours later when she was finished. Nymeria had been quiet, with the exception of a few questions here and there, like what in Oblivion a Qunari was.

“So you started a war. That’s all?” the elf questioned.

“Well, yeah. Anders blew up the Chantry. He killed innocent people.”

“You helped him. And it seems to me that more innocents died in the aftermath and the war that resulted from it.”

Astrid’s eyes flashed with anger. “You don’t have to be bitchy about it.”

Nymeria sighed. “You misunderstand me. You made change happen. Change is never quiet and unnoticeable. People have to force it. And innocents always die.”

Astrid relaxed and looked contemplative. “You really think we did the right thing?”

“I do. These people deserve to be free, and you are working to free them.”

A wide smile split Astrid’s face. “Thanks for understanding. We just wanted you to go into this knowing what was going on. And why the Inquisition might try and kill us.  

“I always like to know why people are trying to kill me.” Nymeria chuckled.

“Yeah, that’s usually a good thing to know.”  

A knock sounded on the wooden cabin door. “Come in.” Astrid called.

Anders came in, his blond hair windblown. Astrid smiled when she saw him.

“I take it she took the news well?” He had his signature grimace.

“You demanded change. Sometimes the ends justify the means.” Anders’s face showed genuine surprise at Nymeria’s words.

“Thank you for understanding, and for helping us.” Anders’s voice and face was raw with genuine thanks.

“Of course. I believe that all should be free to choose their own path. They can’t do that if they’re locked up out of fear,” Nymeria stood and went to the door, “It’s late. I’ll leave you two. Goodnight.”

“Night Nymeria.” Astrid called.

Anders replied “Goodnight.”

 

* * *

 

It was just past midday when the _Siren’s Call II_ docked in West Hill. The ship was bustling with activity.

A few sailors threw down the gangplank, and Hawke, Anders, and Nymeria stood near it, packs in hand.

Astrid hugged Isabela, Fenris, and Merrill. “Keep near the coast for us. If we need some backup, I’ll send a raven. Be sure to stay out of trouble though.” She gave a pointed glare at the pirate captain, who winked at the other woman.

“You know me Hawke, can never resist a booty.” Merrill giggled, and Hawke muttered a “Maker, Bela.”

“Take care, Anders. Keep her from talking herself into trouble.” Isabela told the blond mage. He gave a somber nod.

Fenris, Merrill, and Isabela waved to Nymeria as the trio filed off the ship, and disappeared into the crowd on the docks.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are always loved!  
> Side note: I know Nymeria seems chill with what went down in Kirkwall, but the first time I played DA:II, I personally was horrified. I don't think Anders is a terrorist like some of the internet thinks, but I think he could have gone about starting the rebellion in a different way. Nymeria only understands because it's her way of thinking and her personality. So, just so there's no negative backlash. Also, sorry not sorry for the short chapter. I had to speed things along to get them to the Inquisition, and the next chapter will be much longer. Thanks for reading guys.


	7. In Hushed Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition tries to form an alliance with the rebel mages of Redcliffe, but instead gets a look at the future, should they fail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, there's allusion to torture, and some brief descriptions of blood and death.

Mythal, her head was pounding.

Where was she?

Why was she in dirty, knee deep water?

She was just in the throne room of Redcliffe Castle, when the Magister….

Another groan brought Lyanna out of her head.

“Well, that was unpleasant.”

The tiny elf stared at the human man, the one she had met in the Chantry when they were attacked by demons. Dorian was his name.

Why was he here? Where was Bull and Varric?

“What’s going on?” She asked, her light, melodic voice accented like those raised Dalish often were.

“Alexius used his time magic to displace us, the only question is, forward or backward?” Dorian twirled is mustache in thought.

Before he could think about too long, however, two armed Venatori guards walked past the cell they were in. One shouted something in Tevene, and unlocked the gate to get to the two mages.

Lyanna acted quickly. She pulled Dorian from the water with surprising strength, up into an alcove. When the guards tried to charge in the water, she shot lightning at the filthy water, and the two men went down with a short scream.

Not only was the stench of stagnant water in the air, now the faint smell of ozone and charred flesh mingled with it.

After a short moment, and making sure the lightning had dissipated, Lyanna stepped back into the water, Dorian following her.

“Ugh. Good thing I needed new robes from the trip down to this backwater country.”

“Then freeze it and we’ll walk on top.” She turned those magnificent fade green eyes to the Tevinter.

Dorian, for once, shut his mouth.

They climbed out of the water, it still squishing between his toes when he walked.

Lyanna couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Red Lyrium was growing out of the walls, and the castle seemed as if it was about to collapse in on itself.

“I think we went forward in time. But how far?”Lyanna remarked to her companion. She didn’t trust him. She hardly trusted any shemlens, but right now, he was all she had. Lyanna was very much glad that she had left her brother and sister behind in Haven to help Cul- Commander Rutherford, with his troops. She couldn’t live with herself if Sernon and Ferarrah got hurt or killed because of her.

Dorian and Lyanna searched the lower cells, when they found Fiona, almost encased in Red Lyrium. The elf didn’t want to leave the other woman there, but there was no choice. They learned that two years had passed, and that all of this was happening because she disappeared.

They found Bull and Varric, both corrupted by the lyrium, and broken, but not broken enough to fight.

Fighting their way through the broken corridors, they came across Leliana, who killed her captors with the distraction Lyanna made. At the bard’s harsh words, the elf felt tears well up, but she refused to cry. This was her fault, after all.

“There’s another prisoner in this room up here. I don’t know if she’ll fight though.” Leliana’s voice was hollow.

They followed the beaten woman, where she picked the lock on the heavily-reinforced door.

The room was about the size of the one they found Leliana in, only instead being chained to the ceiling, the woman was kneeling, dirty and tangled black hair covering her face. Her arms, legs, waist and neck were all chained to the floor, huge iron links making escape impossible, if she could even lift it.

She didn’t look up at the sound of the door opening. Only when her chains begun to drop to the floor did she look at her rescuers.

She had skin the color of caramel, her eyes swirled with amber, though there was no emotion in her eyes. A shiver ran down Lyanna’s spine. She was looking into the eyes of a woman who had given up on life entirely.     

A steel muzzle covered her mouth, preventing her from speaking.

She pulled on the lock that was situated at the back of her head, and snapped it off. It fell to the ground with a loud clang.

Standing, she rolled her shoulders and looked at her rescuers. The woman was very thin; it was clear that she was fed sparingly. Her hair was wild, and she pulled it back out of her face, exposing her pointed ears.

 _She’s Elvhenan!_ _But a very strange looking one._

“I suppose I should thank you.’ Her voice was rough from disuse.

“Nym. The Herald need our help. They are trying to fix all of this.” Leliana explained.

Her eyes turned to Lyanna.

“What has happened, cannot be fixed,” her voice grew stronger, and she stalked over to the tiny elf, towering over her “This world is dead, as is everyone in it. You can’t _fix_ anything.” She snarled the last few words at her, her long canines barred. A wild, untamed look replaced the emptiness in her eyes.

Lyanna, after all what she had seen an experienced, no longer scared easily, but this strange woman, apparently strong enough to snap a metal lock, and needed to be chained to the floor, terrified the tiny elf.

She couldn’t say anything.

Bull pulled her back away from the snarling woman, as Dorian tried to explain better.

“Alexius sent us forward in time, everything that’s happened, hasn’t happened to us yet.”

Leliana was about to say something, but the woman, Nym, beat her to it.

“You don’t get to just decide that all of this is a bad dream, or another obstacle to overcome. For us, we’ve lived through unimaginable pain, torture, and loss. You don’t just get to decide that the last two years didn’t happen.” Her voice shook the room, and she was breathing heavily when she was done.

Lyanna spoke, and was proud of herself when her voice came out stronger than she thought it would. “Dorian doesn’t mean it like that. Please, we just want to set this right. Please, help us.”

The strange elf looked at the small woman for a short moment, before deflating. “I will help you. But there is something we must do first.”

“Of course, anything.” Lyanna told her.

“Then follow me.” She went to a chest that was behind a table full of wicked and blood-covered tools, and pulled out her weapons, leaving her armor behind.

She strapped on her twin swords, one that appeared to be made of ice, the other was a white metal that glowed. After her swords, she slung a quiver of arrows over her shoulder, as well as her bow.

With her weapons in place, Nym left the room, Lyanna, Dorian, Bull, Varric, and Leliana in two. The former bard had a somber look on her face, like she knew where they were headed.

 

* * *

 

Nym led the group down the crumbling passages, fighting Venatori all the way. She was an exceptional fighter, her arrows never missed, her blades always true, and her magic, Lyanna had never seen such magic before.

The inquisitive elf would normally ask what kind of magic she was using, and how it worked, but now was not the time, nor place.

Finally, they stopped at a heavy wooden door, and Nym placed her hand upon the handle, and took a deep breath.

She opened it slowly, and stepped into the large room, which was remarkably intact compared to the rest of the castle, and was lavishly furnished. A woman, dressed in velvet, heavy brocade, and silk, stood before a large, roaring fire place. She turned to face the intruders, and Lyanna had to suppress a gasp.

The woman was abnormally tall, almost as tall as Bull. Her legs were long, and even though her clothes, one could tell that she was very strong. She had short cropped hair, not unlike Cassandra’s but with a more feminine look. Her hair was black, though red shined though it, seemingly from the fire. Her skin was almost white, and completely flawless. Her eyes though, was the most unnerving part of her. Her eyes were red and orange, and shone like twin fires, the dark black shadows around her eyes making them stand out all the more. Her lips were painted a crimson red, and her teeth were pearly white as she smiled at them.

Resting her hand on the very wicked-looking blade, she sauntered over to them a few feet. The way she moved screamed predator, but also something else, something decidedly much more sexual. Her robes proved that. She was wearing a corset, one that was cut in such a way that allowed an ample amount of cleavage to show. Her dress looked as if she could actually fight in it, though it was formal and fine enough to be worn at a ball, except for its scandalous cut. The skirt had a very, very high slit, and as she walked, her garter belt showed, and the tops of her high-heeled black leather boots came to a stop at mid-thigh. The cloth was all in a black, crimson or gold color scheme.

As the fire crackled, it threw her shadow in front of her, and it was as terrifying as the woman who cast it. Large, demonic horns sprouted from her head, and two, enormous and tattered wings could be seen projected on the fine carpet.

“Well, well. It seems the little dragon has escaped her cage.” She flashed her white teeth at Nym.

Even her voice was dripping with power, both physical and sexual. She had such a sultry and commanding tone, if her appearance didn’t inspire a room to turn and look at her, her voice would. Whoever this woman was, Lyanna did _not_ like her.

Nym didn’t say a word, she just looked the woman over for a very short moment, her eyes full of sadness.

In an instant, Nym was across the room, which was still shaking from her magic. The woman had a very surprised look on her face, as one of Nym’s swords had run her through.

The elf had a very stoic expression on her face, as the woman clutched her shoulders.

After a short, stunned silence, the woman changed. Her clothes remained the same, but everything else, physically changed. Her skin was still that perfect alabaster, only this time, there was more color in her cheeks. Her eyes became this electric blue, and faint wing markings could be seen on the sides of her face. Her hair, while still the same length, became a rich, chocolate brown. Nym pulled the sword from her belly.

Unable to stand on her own anymore, she slumped to the ground, Nym following her. The woman looked up at the elf, and tears ran down her cheeks.

“Oh Avo, what did I do? Nym-“ Her voice was different, no longer intimidating, but soft, like a song.

“Shhh. It’s alright Veronica. Everything is going to be alright.”

“But Ben, and Logan, and,” She struggled with the last name, choking on the word as a look of pure anguish crossed her face, “Robb, my poor little Robb. What have I done?”

“Nothing of your own free will. I promise you, this will not happen. I will not let them do this to you again. Just as I promised to free you.” Nym spoke in a hushed tone, though everyone in the room could hear them. Nym too, looked as if she wanted to cry. “Rest now, my friend. Go and be with your family again.”

At her words, the woman closed her eyes, took her last breath, and was no more.

Nym sat there for another moment, cradling her friend in her arms, before she stood. The front of her dirty tunic was stained with the woman’s blood. Wordlessly, she took a blanked from one of the couches, and covered her body.

Nym looked to Lyanna, a very cold look in her eyes.

“Her name was Veronica Finn. She was my friend, and the kindest soul I’ve ever met. She had a loving husband, a dutiful brother, a gorgeous son, and a country who adored her. When she came here, to Thedas, it was a mistake. But she saw a problem, and tried to fix it. When they caught her, they gave her this, potion. It turned her. It turned her into a cruel, murdering, sociopath. She executed her family. I watched her kill her six-year-old boy in cold blood, while he was clutching the corpse of his father. Logan, her brother, tried to save him, but she gunned him down too. Her people are suffering, demons and darkness has claimed her kingdom, and she sat here, doing as she pleased.”

Lyanna couldn’t hold back her tears. This was all her fault, all this suffering, all these people losing their lives because she wasn’t there.

“You will fix this. You have to. I watched, helpless, as they killed the love of my life, my best friends, and turned the last one I had into a monster. If I do one thing before I die, you _will stop all of this_.” Nym had approached Lyanna again, her eyes boring a hole though the small elven woman.

She wiped her tears, but gave her a firm nod.

Nym brushed past her, back out the door, and down the halls to Alexius’s throne room.

 

* * *

 

The fight with Alexius was hard, but when Dorian grabbed the amulet from the beaten Magister, demons could be heard from the outside.

“Nym quickly ran to Lyanna, and gave her a piece of paper.

“This has all you need to know to stop this on it. When we meet, I won’t believe you that any of this happened. Ask me this question: What is the music of life? And show me this symbol,” the elf indicated the roughly drawn symbol on it, “I’ll believe anything you say then. Go, now, before it’s too late. We’ll hold them off.”

Lyanna clutched the paper to her chest, and watched as her friends fought the demons that were pouring in the large room.

Varric fell first, and Bull followed. Lelianna was injured, and Nym was taking on the whole horde, but she too, was injured and failing fast. Seeing her friends die for her, more tears found their way down her pale cheeks.

Dorian shouted something to her, but she didn’t hear him over the roaring in her ears. She was snapped back to reality when the Altus grabbed her hand, and Lyanna’s head was spinning again.

All of a sudden, she was in the throne room of Redcliffe Castle, and this one was intact.

After getting her bearings, she walked right over to the dumbstruck Magister, and slapped him with a surprising amount of strength from her tiny frame.

Dorian came from behind, and pulled her off of him.

“Hey, it’s alright.” He cooed in her ear. Satisfied that she won’t try and rip Alexuis in half, Dorian released his grip on Lyanna.

Right before Lyanna was about to give Alexuis a piece of her mind, heavily armed guards bearing the Ferelden crest strode into the hall, two figures in the middle of the group of guards.

One was a man, the other a woman. The man was in Silverite, though it was glided gold, and the woman was is in a set of Silverite armor. The man was handsome, with blond hair, stubble, a strong jaw and kind eyes. The woman, had dark brown hair, and rather attractive features. A small scar could be seen along one side of her jaw, and a small scar that ran though her right eyebrow.

The two both had swords on their hips. And shields on their backs.

The couple stopped a respectable distance from the Lyanna and her companions.

The woman spoke first. “Where is the leader of the rebel mages?” Her voice echoed though the hall, it’s commanding tone brokering no argument.

“Your majesties, King Alistair and Queen Victoria, I am Fiona, the leader of the mages.” The Orlesian elf strode forward.

The queen looked the elf up and down, while the king noted the presence of the Inquisition.

“You have more than outstayed your welcome here. We tried to help you, but all you have done is cause war and suffering, not to mention the presence of a Tevinter Magister!” Fiona look sheepish.

“If I may?” Lyanna spoke up.

Both royals’ attention snapped to the elven mage.

“I came here, on behalf of the Inquisition, to ask the mages to be allies with us, to close the Breach. That offer still stands.” Lyanna offered Fiona a soft smile.

The king, Alistair, spoke. “All mages will leave Redcliffe, and they are not to return. Is that clear?”  
Lyanna nodded, before turning to Fiona.

“I am serious when I say allies. You are not the Inquisition’s prisoners. You have my word.”

Bull grumbled something under his breath, but it was barely heard from the cheers that erupted from the other mages present in the room, ecstatic to be free from Tevinter, and to still have their freedom.

“I’ve seen what magic can do, Herald. I hope you know what you are doing.” Victoria gave Lyanna a pointed look, before she took Alistair’s armoured hand in hers, and left the throne room, their guards trailing behind them.

 

* * *

 

It took about two weeks, with all the mages accompanying them, to get back to Haven. The whole time, Lyanna wasn’t herself. She hardly ate, and hardly slept. She knew that none of what she had seen or experienced hadn’t happened yet, and she was determined to make sure that it did _not_ happen.

It seemed to be effecting Dorian as well. He ate sparingly, and dark circles appeared under his eyes as well. He at least, put on a brave face, and joked with Varric and Bull. Lyanna, though she was not a quiet person per se, she does have quite a talent for sass and lighthearted nature, but over the trip back, she hardly spoke, and didn’t crack a smile, even when Varric and Bull tried to cheer her up.

Once they finally made it back to Haven, Lyanna made a beeline to her cabin, and locked the door. Several of her friends came by, knocking on the door, only to be told to go away. She even turned her brother and sister away, who she knew would be very concerned that she was in there alone, not seeing the two people she trusted the most. It was evening, and she had been left alone for several hours, when there was another knock on the door.

It was Cullen.

Lyanna knew that her little crush on the Commander was ridiculous, he was handsome, human, and in a position of power. He could get any woman he wanted. Why would he even look twice at an elf, not only an elf, but a Dailish, and a mage to boot. He was a Templar once, and had a very bad experience with mages. It was a wonder he wasn’t outright hostile towards her.

But he never was. He always was so kind, though he stumbled over his words quite a bit when he was talking to her.

“My Lady? I have your dinner, if you would please unlock the door.”

Lyanna got up from the spot she had been sitting on in front of the fire on the floor, and unlocked the door.

 

* * *

 

When the door opened, Cullen did not expect to see Lyan- _the Herald_ look like the way she did.

Her normally so well-kept waist-length white hair was though up on top of her head, her tunic and breeches hung too loosely on her already small frame.

He gave her a small smile, and when she gave him a weak one back, the butterflies in his stomach took off.

“My I, uh, come in?” He asked nervously.

She looked at him a short moment, before nodding and letting him inside the cabin.

There were three beds, one for each Lavellan sibling, their things neat and organized. Some cushions and blankets were on the rug in the center, in front of the fireplace. Papers, quills, ink bottles, and pencils were everywhere, and Cullen could see some sketches on the papers. Before he could get a good look however, Lyanna scooped all the papers up and shoved them under her bed.

Returning to her area, she sat on the cushions, pulling a blanket around her shoulders. Cullen set the tray down, careful not to spill the soup and water.

Cullen was pleased when she reached for the bread, and began to munch on it.

He stood there awkwardly for a minute or two, before turning to leave.

“Cullen? Could you please stay? At least for a while?” Her voice was small, unsure.

He turned back to the elf. The fire made her fade-green eyes shine, and made the green tattoos of her gods dance across her brow.

He was glad he had taken off his armor, and was just in his red cloak and grey tunic, as he sat in the cushions with her. He kept a respectable distance; he didn’t want to scare her.

She searched his face for a moment, before silent tears slid down her cheeks.

His heart ached to see her in such distress, but he knew he couldn’t do anything. She was elven. Her sister, Ferarrah was very vocal in her hate for humans, while Lyanna was kind to all races, he knew that she would most likely rather die than ever be with a human, not to mention he was once a Templar, and she was a mage. She was also the Herald of Andraste. Cullen wasn’t so sure that she was sent by the Maker, but for political purposes, they couldn’t be together. It was foolish to think otherwise.

“It was horrid. All those people suffered and died, all because of me. Because I wasn’t there.”

The Tevinter mage, Dorian, had told them what had happened after Lyanna refused to come out of the cabin. Cullen had been though so much at the Circle in Ferelden, but he knew that she was so innocent to the ways of the rest of Thedas. She had lived her whole life with the Dalish, and had never really seen combat before this whole mess. Whatever had happened at Redcliffe, really shook her up.

He scooted closer to her, and put his hand on her upper back, rubbing it gently. He was unprepared when she threw herself at him, clutching his broad shoulders desperately as she sobbed.

After the shock of ‘she’s really this close to you and you’re sitting there gaping like a fish’ had worn off, Cullen instinctively wrapped his arms around her, and murmured soothing words in her ears. This close to her, he could smell the bath oil she used, and could see that some of her hair was still damp.

Cullen had never really noticed how much smaller she was compared to him. She was all but straddling him, her arms wrapped around his neck, crying into his tunic.

She smelled of pine and lavender, and Cullen realized exactly how intoxicating it was when his thoughts began to drift into inappropriate territory.    

_NO! Control yourself, Rutherford. She’s upset. That’s the only reason she’s even touching you._

All Cullen could do was hold her, and let her cry it out.

After several long moments, her grip on his neck loosened. She looked at him, her eyes red from crying, with a slightly horrified expression on her face.

“Commander, I-“ she hiccupped.

“No, Cullen is fine. You don’t need to worry. You went through something traumatic. It’s alright.” He gave her a soft smile, and she relaxed, only to tense again when she realized how she was sitting on him.

Cullen could see her pale cheeks flush pink, and that the flush reached even the tips of her ears, despite all the piercings and jewelry that adorned them.

Lyanna not-so-subtlety scrambled off of him, sitting back down in her cushions and wringing her hands together.

“Lady Lavellan, its fine. I’m not offended.” _You’re the furthest thing from that, you pervert. She’s what, barely seen twenty winters?_

“Lyanna. Call me Lyanna. It’s only fair.” She gave him another smile.

“I should leave you to your meal. Do you want me to send for your siblings?”

Cullen thought he saw sadness in her eyes when he said he should leave, but that’s just wishful thinking, right?

“Yes, thank you….Cullen.”

He gave her a small bow before exiting her cabin.

_Maker’s breath. Did that really just happen?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like the way this is going so far. This has become my brain-child.   
> Comments and Kudos are much appreciated!


	8. The Calm Before the Firestorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna takes a walk to clear her head, as she and Cullen bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is definitely a filler chapter of sorts. I love Cullen and Lyanna together, so I wanted to elaborate on their relationship and try to flesh out the Lavellans a bit more.

Lyanna was already done eating, and was in her bed asleep when Sernon and Ferarrah entered their shared cabin.

Sernon was bundled in a fur cloak, his broad shoulders collecting the falling snow from the chilly mountain air. Ferarrah ducked under her brother’s arm, throwing her cloak off and leaving the older elf to close the door.

If the door closing didn’t wake her up, Ferarrah jumping on top of her did. The energetic elf found her sister’s head and pulled her up from her nest of furs and pillows, pulling Lyanna close and giving her a bear hug.

“Asa'ma'lin! That Tevinter shemlen told us what happened. Are you alright?”

“Ferarrah, leave Lyanna alone. She’s well enough to let us back in. Just let her sleep. It’s getting late, and there is much to do tomorrow.”

Lyanna hugged her sister back. “I’m fine Ferarrah, Cu-, erm, Commander Rutherford sat with me for a time.”

Sernon threw Lyanna a knowing look. Ferarrah released Lyanna from her soul-crushing hug, and looked at her square in the eye. Goldish-green stared down green.

“I don’t like how that shemlen stares at you, Asa’ma’lin. He’s a shem _and_ a Templar. Nothing about that seems like a good idea.”

With all that had happened recently, Lyanna just couldn’t handle Ferarrah’s hatred at the moment. The tiny elf pushed her younger sister off of her and stood from her bed.

“Can stop for one second? The entire Inquisition is human! And you have to realise, that not all humans are as awful as those ones were. I _know_ they raped and killed Mamae, I _know_ that they almost- that they almost-“ Sernon put his hand on her shoulder, and Lyanna shrugged it off.

“I trust Cullen. He’s a good man. We all lost Mamae, but you weren’t even there when she died, and I _still_ don’t hold as much hatred as you.”

“Alright, that’s enough! We all loved her, and we all lost her. Ferarrah, you do need to realise that not everything is black and white. Some people are just evil. Lyanna, you need to settle down and not yell at her. You know her opinions on things, and you know how pig-headed she is. Be the adult and ignore her!” Sernon was rather soft-spoken, so when he raised his voice and scolded them, Ferarrah looked sheepish. Lyanna, however, had a stony expression on her face.

She calmly grabbed her boots, and walked out of the cabin, slamming the wooden door behind her.

 

* * *

 

She slipped her boots on outside the cabin, and stomped off in the direction of the stables. It was a bit late, though everyone seemed to be in bed early, with the task they had before them tomorrow.

The guards at the gate to Haven greeted her, though she could see the odd looks they gave her as she walked out of the village in a loose tunic and breeches, no cloak, her hair unbound and wild, and a pissed expression on her face.

Lyanna headed for the frozen lake not far from the village. She avoided the Charger’s campsite and the rebel mages and refugee camp not far from it. While the refugees that had flocked to Haven were simple folk, and feared magic, when the rebel mages came from Redcliffe, they were surprisingly welcoming, and had no problem with having the mage’s camp next to theirs. 

The snow was still falling, and when she got out to the lake, Lyanna found a rock to sit on.

After several minutes, Lyanna realized exactly how cold it was, and regretted her decision to not grab her cloak in her hasty exit from her cabin.

She didn’t move from the rock though. The cold air felt good, even if she was shivering. It cleared her head.

Her ears twitched when she heard approaching footsteps, and pulled at the Fade for her magic.

“Lady Lyanna?” It was Cullen’s voice. She let her magic dissipate when she recognized the voice.

Lyanna turned to look at the former Templar. He was dressed as before, his cloak billowing in the frigid wind.

“What are you doing out here this late? And without a cloak? You’ll catch your death.”

“Ferarrah-“ Lyanna stopped when she realized that she can’t tell him why they were fighting. The last thing she wanted was for him to find out that she had feelings for him.

He looked expectantly to her. Lyanna began again. “Ferarrah was just being herself. You know how she gets. Sernon didn’t help either. I just needed to be away for a bit,” she paused for a second “Why are you out here?”

Cullen either blushed, or his cheeks were flushed from the cold.

“I like to do one last round before I turn in for the night if I’m not too exhausted.”

Lyanna and Cullen’s eyes locked for a moment, before Cullen broke eye contact to shrug off his cloak.

“Here, you need this more than I do.” He held it out to her.

Lyanna wasn’t sure if her flushed cheeks could been seen over their redness from the cold, but she could feel the heat rise to her numb face.

“I shouldn’t it’s my fault I didn’t bring one anyway…”

Not taking no for an answer, Cullen slipped the crimson and black cloak over her shoulders anyway.

Lyanna’s senses were suddenly awash with everything Cullen. His coat smelled of leather and the polish he used to make his armor gleam. His soap and shampoo was mingled in with the leather and polish as well. The scents were all decidedly _Cullen_ and Lyanna’s head was swimming.

_Creators, I’m doomed._

 

* * *

 

After leaving Lyanna’s cabin, Cullen went to find her siblings.

In hindsight, he should have checked the tavern first, but he also wanted to give Lyanna some more time for herself, at least to finish eating.

After wandering around Haven for a bit, looking for the two Dalish, Cullen made his way to The Singing Maiden.

The tavern was rather empty, with the exception of some of the Herald’s friends.

Sera, Varric, Iron Bull, Blackwall, Cassandra, Dorian, and the two Lavellan siblings were all seated at one of the long tables, playing cards and drinking.

When the door closed, gold-green eyes that belonged to the youngest Lavellan caught his and glared at him, like every other time she’s near him.

* * *

 

_More and more refugees were coming in every day. Haven wasn’t built for this many people, and the refugee camp was chaos. Cullen sent some of his men to bring order to the camp, but it was a slow process. These people were terrified, and the Inquisition was there to help._

_The Lady Herald was out scouting in the Hinterlands, with hope of securing some mounts for the Inquisition._

_Cullen felt strange. He had only known her for a week at the most, and yet, he missed her presence at the war table, or seeing the flash of white hair and fade-green eyes roam around the village. Ever since he first laid eyes on the small elven woman, he had been drawn to her, but as time passed, it seemed everyone else was as well._

_Her pale skin, marked by green ink that was a not-so-subtle reminder that she and Cullen came from different worlds. He knew, logically, that there’d be absolutely no possible way that anything could come from his little crush._

_He was being foolish. And he was a grown-ass man. He needed to get over it._

_Cullen was reading a report from Rylen when two elves strode up to him, and one of them immediately began yelling at him in elvish._

_Cullen looked at the woman, she was about the same height as the Lady Herald, maybe a little taller. Her skin was darker, like she spent much of her time outside. Her hair was a rich, dark brown, and was cropped short, but had a wild, shaggy appearance. Small braids, beads, and a few feathers gave her a very wild and untamed look. Her gold-green eyes were full of emotion, most notably, rage. Intricate designs overlapping lines adorned her mostly covered forehead, but the design continued down the sides of her face and a stripe in the center of her chin that extended down her neck. The tattoos stood out in stark, black ink against her skin._

_The other, a man, grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her back._

_He was rather large for an elf, and Cullen could see the huge sword he carried strapped to his back. He had sandy blond hair, which was shaved around but kept long on the top. His skin was a lighter shade than the woman’s, and his nose and cheeks were dusted with freckles, like the other elf. His eyes had more green than gold, and the green almost was the same shade as Lady Lyanna’s. Dark tree limbs covered his brow, and under his eyes._

_“Ir abelas. Apologies for my sister. She is, well, sort of an acquired taste.” The man’s voice was light and soft. It had a very level-headed and diplomatic tone to it, under the Dalish accent._

_Cullen looked at the pair for a moment. There was something about them that reminded him of the Herald, when he realized that all three of them looked very similar in face._

They’re her brother and sister. _He realized._

_“My name in Sernon, and this is Ferarrah, of Clan Lavellan. Lyanna is our sister, and we’re looking for her.”_

_“I am Commander Cullen Rutherford. The Lady Herald is out scouting in the Hinterlands, securing mounts for the Inquisition. She is expected back in the next few days.”_

_“Why is she out doing your dirty work, shemlen?” The woman, Ferarrah, sneered at him._

_Sernon gave her a look that said ‘be civil’. She huffed and crossed her arms._

_“What do you mean by Herald?”_

_“Lady Lyanna is thought to be the Herald of Andraste by most everyone here. She is the only survivor of the explosion at the Conclave, and she has a mark on her hand that can repair the rifts in the Fade.”_

_Sernon’s face had a mix between shock and worry, while Ferarrah’s was of anger._

_“My sister is no prophet of your burned woman, shemlen! You will not-“ Sernon’s elbow in her gut effectively silenced her, though she did throw a rather nasty glare at him._

_“She has been very adamant that she not been seen as such, I assure you. But the rumor, conjecture, and belief of the masses are a powerful force. Those of the Inner Circle don’t rely on blind faith alone.”_

_That was only a partial lie. Cassandra, Leliana, and himself believe that it was no mere coincidence that she was at the Conclave and that she gained the mark._

_“You are more than welcome to stay in Lady Lyanna’s cabin until her return.”_

_Sernon thanked him, while he was gifted with more glares from the roguish elf._

 

* * *

 

He approached the table, where a chorus of greetings, including one from the oldest Lavellan, greeted him.

”Lady Lyanna is feeling much better. She wanted the two of you back at your cabin.”

Dorian let out a sigh of relief.

“I was getting worried about her. She saw her friends die, I didn’t. She seemed to take what happened a lot worse than I did.”

Cullen declined Varric’s invitation to stay and have a few drinks, and left the tavern.

Instead of trying to sleep like he knew he should, Cullen began to make his rounds for the night. He glanced back over his shoulder when he heard the tavern door open, and saw that Sernon and Ferarrah had put their cloaks on and were making their way across the village to their cabin.

The night had gotten colder, and snow had begun to fall. Cullen could feel the onset of a lyrium headache, though the frigid air seemed to help relieve the pain to a more bearable level.

He took his time roaming up and down the streets of Haven before making his way out of the main gates. He usually ended his nightly walks with a jaunt by the frozen lake before heading back to his room in the Chantry.

As he neared the lake, he noticed a figure perched on a rock. Even from behind, he knew exactly who it was.

Her hair was unbound, and fell down her back to her waist in loose waves, the occasional braid and bead thrown in. The feathers that frequented her locks she must remove before sleeping, and did not replace them.

He felt her pull at the Fade, so he announced his presence.

“Lady Lyanna?”

She turned to look at him, and he saw that she didn’t have a cloak.

When she refused his, he went ahead and placed his cloak around her slender shoulders anyway.

Seeing her in his cloak stirred something deep within him, and Cullen realized that his little crush was much, much more than that. The last time he had felt something like this, he was just a boy, guarding the Circle and had fallen for a mage. A mage that gave her life to save others from the demons that overcame the tower.

He offered her his hand. “Walk with me?”

* * *

 

She looked at him for a moment, before sliding her small, slender hand in his.

She rose gracefully from the rock, and wrapped his cloak tighter around herself.

They walked down the frozen bank for a while, before Lyanna spoke.

“I’m terrified about tomorrow. If I fail, what I saw in Redcliffe will come true.”

Cullen stopped walking and turned to her, grabbing her hands and raising them up. The mark had a green tinge to it, and the organic vine-like pattern that adorned her palm shimmered with the power that lie in her skin.

“I have absolute faith in you that we will be successful. The Breach will be closed and we can focus on who created it and help the Chantry rebuild.”

She still seemed unsure.

His heart pounded in his chest. He was doing remarkably well with keeping his cool and not acting like a bumbling fool.

“Lyanna.” he spoke softly. Those immense green eyes met his and his heart stuttered. “What you saw will not happen. You have enough to worry about. This is not one of them.”

He didn’t realize how close they had become, or that he was still holding her small hands in his.

_It would be so easy to just lean down and-_

_You do that and probably end up a pile of cinders._

While he was warring with himself, Lyanna took her hands from his, and gently rested them on his chest. She could feel his toned upper torso, and his heart beating rapidly under one of her hands.

Cullen was pulled out of his revere when he felt her hands on his chest.

“Cullen…” She all but whispered.

_Ah, fuck it._

He wrapped an arm around her tiny waist, and his other hand buried itself in her long, silky locks. Her hands gripped the front of his tunic as he brought their lips together.

Lyanna’s lips were cold, but soft. When she responded eagerly, his grip on her tightened and he tipped her head back, deepening the kiss.

The kiss seemed like it lasted for both an eternity and a second. They only broke apart when they needed air, their breaths mingling and white frost coming from them.

Lyanna’s lips were red and swollen, her eyes sparkled, and she had a content grin on her face, one which, Cullen was sure, a matching one adorned his own.

She pulled him into a hug, standing on her tip-toes and burying her face into his neck. Cullen did the same, and breathed in pine and lavender.

They stayed in their embrace for a time, just content with being near each other, when the full realization of what just happened settled in.

He broke the hug, but still had his hands on her waist. Her arms were draped on his shoulders, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“My lady I-“

“If you’re about to apologize for that, I swear, I’ll start throwing lightning at you.” Despite the smile that was still plastered on her face, Cullen had a feeling that she wasn’t joking.  

Cullen let out a sigh on relief, and muttered “Thank the Maker.”

She laughed at his comment.

“You know that we are in a precarious position. And I would like to keep anything like this… out of the public eye.”

Her smile faded into a look of surprise and sadness as she stepped out of his reach.

“Is it because I’m an elf? Because I’m Dalish?” Her marked hand reached up and touched the green tattoo on her brow. Her voice was soft and sad, no hint of anger. “Or even because I’m a mage?” Now she looked at her hands, her gaze lingering on the mark on her left hand.

“Maker, no!”

Ugh! He was such an idiot! Of course she would think he would be ashamed of being in a relationship with her!

“Lyanna, It has _nothing_ to do with any of that. I would never be ashamed of you. I just, just.” He took a deep breath and took her hands in his.

“I want anything between us to remain between us. I already have to share you with the rest of the Inquisition. I just want some privacy, that’s all.”

She blinked at him. “Oh.” Lyanna shook her head.

“Elgar’nan. I’m such and idiot.”

Cullen gave her a small smile. “You are far from that.”

Now that a smile was once again on her face, Cullen looked up at the moon.

“It’s getting late. We should head back.”

Lyanna nodded her agreement, and they walked back down the frozen bank, hand in hand.

 

* * *

 

Cullen walked her to her door, where she gave him his cloak back. The cold air immediately made her want to snatch it back, but she knew he had to be freezing by now as well.

They shared another kiss before Cullen bid her goodnight, and Lyanna disappeared into her cabin, careful not to wake her sleeping brother and sister.

She toed off her snow-covered boots by the door, and slipped into her furs.

It took a while still for her to fall asleep. Her mind kept drifting back to Cullen, and that first kiss they shared. Well, her first with him and first in general.

And what a kiss it was! She felt like her knees were going to give out when he deepened it.

Eventually, Lyanna managed to make her mind calm down, and she drifted off into the Beyond.             

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so diverging from the whole 'can't begin a romance before Skyhold' thing, because I can and the muses wanted to kiss.   
> Comments and Kudos are appreciated!


	9. In Your Heart Shall Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the help of some faces from both the past and future, the Inquisition closes the Breach, and the truth becomes clearer when Haven is attacked.

The roads of Ferelden were either crumbling, white stone highways, or dirt, more specifically, mud roads.

The road to Haven wasn’t as bad as Nymeria would have thought. It took a little over two weeks to get to the village, though they elected to stay outside of it, in the forest. This close to the Inquisition, both mages were extremely jittery and on edge.

“We need to contact Varric. We can’t start a fire without alerting them, and we can’t survive out here without one.” Anders commented.

“I can sneak in the village, find him or leave a message.” Nymeria suggested.

“Maybe not a note. Someone else might find it.” Astrid noted.

“Very well. What does he look like?” Nymeria took off her cloak, and set it by her pack. The spring air of Haven was bracing, but she had been in much, much colder weather.

“He’s a dwarf, blond hair, hairy chest. And he doesn’t have a beard. So just look for a beardless dwarf, and you should be good.” Hawke smiled at the mention of her friend.

”I’ll be back in an hour or so.” Nymeria cloaked herself in shadow, and disappeared.

 

* * *

 

It was almost too easy to sneak into the Inquisition’s camp. The wall wasn’t very tall, nor did the sharpened logs deter her. Even though she had the height of her mother, she had the nimbleness, dexterity, and natural agility that the Bosmer had, as well as being a thief most of her life.

Her leather Guild hood was pulled up, and hid most of her face, even if she was seen.

She used Nocturnal’s Shadow to make herself invisible. When she did so, she noticed several armored men and women reach for their weapons and look in her general direction. Nymeria froze, perched up on the wall.

_Can they sense magic? Even from not from their own plane?_

The guards, who Nymeria guessed were Templars, went back to their tasks after a minute or two, and saw that there was nothing there.

 _Maybe they think it’s that giant green hole in the sky?_ She had noticed that sometimes it gave off the smallest little flares.

Nymeria leaped down from the wall, careful to not make much noise. The whole village seemed to be in preparation for something, something big.

She decided to take to the rooftops to get a vantage. The roofs were steep, but Nymeria had much practice with scaling the mountains of Skyrim.

It was harder to see the dwarves in the hustle and bustle of the village, but she could still pick them out.

_All of them are women or have beards._

She leaped from roof to roof, steadily moving up to the Chantry.

She scanned the area, and found a beardless dwarf making his way toward the Chantry.

Seeing her target, Nymeria jumped down from the building, and landed with a soft thud.

She was careful to not have her shadow give her away as she made her way through the rushing crowd to Hawke’s friend.

She snuck up behind him, and put an invisible hand to his mouth.

“Just stay quiet, and come with me. Nod if you understand.” Varric nodded.

She started to move him forward, though it was very awkward with her hunched over.

Soon she had pulled him into an empty cabin locked the door, and shed her invisibility spell.

“We need to talk.”

 

* * *

 

Varric was not afraid to admit that he was just a little more than a little terrified when a phantom hand came around his mouth and gripped his shoulder with surprising force.

When he was led to a cabin, and heard the door lock, Varric regretted not carrying Bianca with him, but he gripped the daggers he kept on him.

“We need to talk.” The reappeared woman told him. Maker, she was _tall_.

"Yeah, no kidding.” He scoffed.

She pulled her hood off. Varric was surprised to see that she was an elf. Elves didn’t look like her, nor were they that tall.

“We have a mutual friend. She send me to come get you. It’s too dangerous for them to come into the village.”

So this woman was still concerned that someone might overhear them. Alright then, Varric could play along.

“And where is our mutual friend?”

“You’ll have to follow me.”

Varric studied her for a small moment. “As long as you’re not gonna take me into the woods to kill me.”

Her lips quirked up slightly in a smile.

“I promise I won’t.”

She pulled her hood up and unlocked the door.

“Just follow the road out of the village and I’ll lead you to them.”

“You know, with everything going on, if you keep your hood up, they won’t even look twice at you.” Varric told her. It wasn’t a lie, her black leathers were nothing extravagant or flashy. She would just look like a scout, or one of Bull’s men.

She nodded, and left the cabin, Varric tailing her.

 

* * *

 

Nymeria could sense Varric’s trepidation as she led him though the village. True to his word, no one paid her no mind, but several people acknowledged Varric.

They walked in silence. Nymeria wasn’t about to blab to him, and Varric didn’t seem to inclined to trust her. It didn’t escape her notice how he kept one hand on his daggers at all times, and didn’t let his back show to her.

_This one could make it in the underworld._

Soon, they made it back to their little camp, if having no fire still made it a camp.

As soon as Varric saw Hawke sitting on her pack, he let out a low whistle and relaxed considerably.

“Well, slap my ass and call me a nug. You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Hawke stood and a wide, toothy grin split her face. Even Anders seemed to perk up at the sight of the dwarf.

“Varric!” Hawke jumped up and ran to Varric, picking him up and spinning him around once for good measure.

“Whoa, whoa! Easy there, Hawke!” He shouted as she picked him up. “I thought I told you no dwarf tossing that one time on the Coast.”

Hawke looked sheepish. “Sorry?” Varric rolled his eyes, and then turned them to Anders.

Varric’s expression seemed more strained when he looked to the blond mage, but he still had a smile and clasped Anders’s arm amicably.

“Hey Blondie. How you been?”

“As well as I can be, Varric. You still causing trouble?”

“When am I not?” the dwarf chuckled and turned back to Astrid. “So why did you have….”

“Nymeria.” The elf supplied.

“Nymeria, lead me out here? It’s not that dangerous. I mean, they’re not all trying to kill me if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“You’re not us Varric.” Anders stated.

“Well, if you guys were gonna help with the rebels, I’m afraid to tell you you’re a bit late. Lady Green and I just got back from Redcliffe with the mages in tow. You’re just in time to help close the Breach though. The whole Inquisition is preparing for it this afternoon.”

“We just need to talk to someone opened-minded to pardon us. Or at least with enough power to discourage anyone trying to kill us.” Hawke explained

Varric sighed. “Hawke, Lyanna _pardoned_ the mages. They’re allies with the Inquisition. I’m sure people are upset about what happened, but the Divine was just murdered. What happened in Kirkwall is old news for these people, and seems trifling with a hole in the sky.”

“The mages are allies?” Anders’s eyes were wide, his voice small, almost like he was afraid that it was a lie.

Varric gave him a smile. “Yeah Blondie. They’re allies. No Templar supervision. They’re free as far as the Inquisition is concerned. Lady Green made sure of that.”

Astrid and Anders looked like they were about to cry, but embraced each other instead.

“I can’t believe it. This is such as big step. This is the most freedom mages have had for centuries.” Anders still seemed to be absorbing the information, a huge grin on his face.

Yes, Nymeria did prefer him happy than his dour self.

“Come on Hawke. I’ll introduce you to guys to Lady Green. You’ll like her. She’s a hoot.”

“Are you sure it’s safe for them to walk the village?” Nymeria questioned.

“Yeah. Of course. Most of the mages think they’re heroes. A few Templars might get antsy, but hey, they’re Templars.”

They all picked up their packs, as they couldn’t get horses for the journey to Haven from West Hill. Hawke looked to her friend.

“I hope you’re right about this Varric, or I swear…”      

 

* * *

 

As soon as they got to the camps out of the village, heads began to turn.

Hawke had dug out her Champion robes and had put them on, and didn’t bother to hide her face.

Anders kept his head down, as he normally did, but Astrid walked tall and proud though the heart of the Inquisition. Nymeria had replaced her cloak, but not the hood. They most likely wouldn’t be looking at her anyway.

Many of the mages that noticed them began to shout their thanks to the two of them, but as they entered the village, several Templars drew their weapons.

“Stand down!” A human woman, with dark hair and a few scars on her face approached the group. A sword was on her hip, and a shield on her back. She had the look of a hardened warrior. Nymeria respected that.

She spotted Hawke, had a shocked look on her face, looked to Varric, and then the shock morphed to pure rage.

Varric, sensing the danger, ran behind Astrid and shouted, “Seeker! I can explain!”

The woman Varric had dubbed ‘Seeker’ lunged at him, only to be blocked by a wall of thick vines and tree roots that appeared in seconds.

“For Mythal’s sake! Whatever is going on, I’m sure you don’t need to attack him, Cassandra.” A very small, elven woman with long white hair ran up to the scene, her palm still glowing from her magic as she released the spell.

“Lady Herald, Varric’s known where Hawke was all along! He-“

“That’s enough! There are bigger things going on right now. We’ll deal with it, _after_ the Breach is closed.”

Cassandra, to her credit, didn’t argue. She did however, give Varric a look that made him wince.

The elven woman turned to them as Cassandra stomped away.

“Varric, what in the Void did you do?”

The dwarf was no longer using Hawke as a shield and gave the small elven woman a wink.

“Lady Green, this is Astrid Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall, Anders, and –“

“Nym.” She whispered.

Nymeria stiffened at her words.

“What did you call me?” She eyed the woman carefully.

She rifled around in a small pouch on her belt and pulled out a scrap of paper. She handed it to Nymeria.

Nymeria snatched the paper from her, looked at it, and stared at the woman.

“Where did you get this?” Nymeria asked calmly.

“You gave it to me.”

She stayed silent.

“You told me that you’d believe anything I’d say-“

“I do.” Nymeria’s eyes flashed with understanding. “We can discuss the details later. There are more pressing issues at the moment.”

“Of course,” she nodded. “I’m Lyanna Lavellan, by the way. Varric, why have them come here? The mages are allies.”

“We got the letter Varric sent when we were in Nevarra. I guess we were too late to help with the mages, but Anders and I are powerful mages. We can help close the Breach.” Astrid told the small elf.

“I’m sure you’ll be a big help. We need all the magic we can.”

“What’s the plan exactly? How are we closing the Breach?” Anders questioned.

“We’re going to pour magic into my mark.” She held up her left hand and showed them. The green tendrils on her hand sparked green. Astrid winced.

Anders noticed this. “You alright love?”

“Yeah. That thing is just making my head hurt.” She jammed a thumb over her shoulder at the Breach. “And _that_ ,” she pointed to the mark on Lyanna’s hand, “is making me nauseous.”

Lyanna dropped her hand. Nymeria saw sorrow and embarrassment take over her features.

“Ir abelas. I mean, I’m sorry.” The small woman looked sheepish.

“No! It’s not your fault, trust me. I’m just extra sensitive to the Fade. I’d get headaches just walking around Kirkwall. Usually it’s just demons and blood magic that makes me sick, but all the energy is overloading my senses I suppose.”

Lyanna perked up at Astrid’s words. “You can sense magic? How fascinating!”

As Astrid was about to respond to the elf, she looked over Lyanna’s shoulder and promptly snapped her mouth shut.

Nymeria looked to see what Hawke saw, and saw a man in a red surcoat, fur mantle and gleaming silver armor come walking swiftly towards their group.

Lyanna followed Astrid’s gaze, turned, and Nymeria saw her bright green eyes light up at the sight of the human man. The man gave her a small, soft smile that told more than they were obviously willing to show in public, and Lyanna’s pale cheeks became dusted with pink, and not from the cold.

The man then turned his gaze to Astrid and Anders, and his handsome features became stony, and cold.

“Lady Champion. I did not expect to see you again. Or him alive.” His voice surprised Nymeria. He was clearly a man of great respect and command, but Nymeria could tell there was another side to him.

“Knight-Captian Cullen. Good to see you. I like the change in uniform. The Templar skirts never did you justice.” Astrid smiled to try and break some of the tension. _So they are acquainted already. Interesting._

“I’m no longer in the Order. I am Commander of the Inquisition’s forces now.”

“Such as they are.”

“They are a work in progress. I’m sure you can understand.”

“Well, I’m sure they’ll learn to hunt down their allies as well as your Templars did in Kirkwall. Remind me, how many children did they slaughter because of the Rite?”

Cullen clenched his jaw and his eyes flashed dangerously.

“I let you leave the city, even with _him_. Remember that, _Champion_.” He spat the last word.

“Alright Hawke, Curly. We get the point. Trust me when I say that all of have changed over the past four years.”

The two humans deflated.

“Commander, I wish to speak with you about the upcoming assault on the Breach, if you all would excuse me. Oh, and you’re all free to wander around the village and help where you can. We’re almost ready to close the Breach. And if anyone accosts you, tell them you’re under my protection.” Lyanna bowed slightly to the group, indicating her departure.

“Of course, Lady Herald.” Cullen bowed to the group as well, and followed the small even woman deeper into the village.   

“Well. That went well I think.” Astrid joked.

 

* * *

 

Cullen’s gut was full of dread as he and Lyanna walked to the nearest quiet, private spot, which happened to be her cabin. They walked in, stamping the late spring snow off their boots as the door latched behind Cullen.

Lyanna stood in the center of the cabin, staring into the fire. A long silence passed before she spoke.

“Was what she said true?”

Cullen let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

“Lyanna,” he gently grabbed her arm and turned her to look at him. “I was a different man four years ago-“

“So you stood by and let children be murdered!” She hissed, pulling out of his grasp with her teeth bared and tears in her eyes.

“I would _never_ let children be harmed. Meredith ordered the Rite of Annulment, and Kirkwall became a battlefield. Many of the Senior Enchanters got the apprentices out of the Gallows, and were smuggled out of the city. Hawke is just, bitter. She knew me as the Knight Captain who has seen the evil magic can do, and not the beauty it can create.” Cullen reached for her again, and she let him slide an arm around her waist, his other hand tilting her head up to look him square in the eye.

“But I won’t lie to you and say that some did not get hurt or killed.” Cullen regretted the events of Kirkwall. So many people, senselessly killed, and for what?

“Children are sacred to the Dalish. They are our future, and will learn from our past. All children, especially those gifted with magic, are protected at all costs. I’m sorry I was angry at you. I should have let you explain.” Her voice was quiet.

“Lyanna, it’s alright. You have a right to be angry. I was angry for the longest time, at everything.”

Cullen contemplated telling her what had happened at Kinloch Hold, but now was not the time nor place.

She wrapped her small hands around the back of his neck and pulled him in for a hug.

“We’re almost ready to close the Breach.” Lyanna’s voice was muffled by the fur mantle on his cloak.

“Yes. We should go before anyone comes looking for us.” He replied, though he was loathe to let her go. He still didn’t approve of all of this, and all the mages around, with free reign and no Templars to guide them.

At the door, Cullen pulled Lyanna in for a kiss, but even that ended far too soon for his liking, but, there was work to be done.

 

* * *

 

When it came down to it, closing the Breach was easy. Lyanna was expecting to pass out again after such an exertion, but she felt fine. Better than fine, actually.

It was a glorious sight to behold. All the mages, using all their power to charge the mark. Hawke and Anders were a huge help, and Nymeria’s strange magic was strangely powerful.

Josephine had declared that the village deserved a celebration following their victory, and Haven was abuzz with activity once again.

Nymeria however, didn’t join in with the revelry. It was early evening, the sun was almost set, and most people weren’t too drunk yet, but something just didn’t sit well with her.

She perched up on some vacant scaffolding that was used as a lookout tower of sorts.

It was rather quiet up here, despite the loud music and shouts from below.

Nymeria looked out over the frozen lake, towards where the closed Breach marred the sky. She felt the scaffolding sway slightly, and not from the wind.

Sure enough, an elf with tattoos climbed up and sat beside her.

“Aneth ara. I don’t think we’ve met yet. I’m Sernon, Lyanna’s older brother.” He offered cheerfully.

“Nymeria.” She didn’t look at him.

“Why aren’t you celebrating? The whole village is.”

“Something’s wrong. I can feel it on the wind.”

“You’re a mage, yes? Maybe it’s just left over energy from the Breach, or closing it.”

“No,” She stood up, squinting over the horizon. “Look there,” Her eyes widened. “That’s an army!”

Sernon cursed in elvish as Nymeria leaped off the scaffolding and quickly ran through the crowd to where the Inquisition’s inner circle was.

“There’s an army headed this way. I saw their torchfires.”

Sernon ran up behind her. “I saw them too. We’re under attack.”

At once, they all sprang into action. Cullen, still in battledress and with his weapon, began to shout orders to his men to get armed, armored, and into position.

Nymeria quickly made her way to her cabin, where she buckled on her stahlrim armor and equipped her weapons.

Hawke and Anders also came into their shared cabin, Hawke securing pieces of armor and both of them grabbing their staves.

Nymeria, having the head start, and years of practice of quickly taking on and off her armor, was done and out the door first, and running towards the main gate. Cullen was there, at the barred gate, barking orders, Lyanna, her siblings, and a few of her friends beside him.

The army could be heard now, and Nymeria knew it was only a matter of time before this village would be overrun.

“Hello? Can you let me in please? There’s bad men out here and I don’t want to out here with them.” A voice called from the other side of the gate.

Everyone that heard it stopped and looked at the gate.

“I’ll see if it’s a trick or not.” Nymeria told them.

She scaled the stone and wooden gate, poking her head up just enough to see who or what was at the gate. She saw a boy in a very large and odd hat, holding daggers and looking lost.

She climbed back down and landed on the ground with a thud.

“It’s just a boy. I don’t see how he poses a threat.”

Cullen nodded. “Open the gate!”

The boy ran through the gate, which was barred again when he made it though.

“Thank you.”

Hawke and Anders approached the gate as they let the boy through.

Both mages narrowed their eyes at him and gripped their staves tighter.

The wooden gate groaned as the attackers pounded on it, startling them from the boy. He approached Lyanna, though Cullen stepped in front of her, blocking the boy from her.

”My name is Cole. I want to help. The Red Templars come to hurt you. To take back what was stolen.”

His eyes, though hard to see though his messy and long straw-blond hair, shifted to look at the mark on the elf’s hand.

“Commander, what do we do? Haven can’t be defended against an army.” Cassandra questioned. Everyone was thinking the same thing. What do they do?

“The trebuchets. We can use them. Fire them at the mountain. Bury the army.” Lyanna’s eyes scanned the nearby mountain critically.

“We could bury Haven.” Cassandra said.

Leliana, Josephine, and a man in Chantry robes approached them.

“What’s the plan?” Leliana asked.

“It’s not much of a plan. We’d need a way get out of Haven safely.”

“I know of a secret passage out of the village. The pilgrims would use the path during the summer to pay their respects to Andraste.” The old man explained.

“We can-“   

The gates crashed open, monstrous men covered in red crystals charging at them.

Lyanna created a protective wall of roots and vines in front of them as Astrid forced them back, knocking the men off their feet.

The attackers were not deterred. They jumped up, this time arrows accompanying them. Most of them were stopped by Lyanna’s wall of thorns, but the old man was struck in the gut.

Nymeria, bow in hand, climbed and leaped over the wall, as it was only six or so feet tall, and unleashed her Thu’um.

**_VEN GAR NOS!_ **

A whirlwind erupted, taking all the corrupted Templars with them, clearing the way for a moment.

“Chancellor Roderick! Show them the passage! Evacuate the village!” Cullen shouted, not knowing that the old man was injured.

The boy, Cole, was supporting the Chancellor.

“I-… I will do my best, Commander.”

“Hawke, Anders, help people get out of the village, I know you’re healers, so help where you can. Lyanna-“

The elf interrupted the Commander. “I’m going to protect those trebuchets.”

“It’s too dangerous!”

“I don’t care. It needs to be done.”

Cullen stared at her for a short moment before nodding.

“I’ll help keep them off of you.” Nymeria told her.

With their plan in order, they all began to move. A group of Inquisition soldiers charged out of the village, going to man and protect the trebuchets.

Sernon, Ferarrah, The Iron Bull, Dorian, Cassandra, and Nymeria following them, Lyanna lagged behind, pulling Cullen into an embrace.

“Be careful.” He whispered in her ear.

“I always am.” She gave him a weak smile. There was a good possibility that the both of them wouldn’t make it out alive.

Not caring that they weren’t alone, Lyanna pulled him in for a quick but passionate kiss.

They parted without another word, Lyanna running out of the gate to defend Haven.

 

* * *

 

They were all doing so well before the dragon attacked. They had only one trebuchet left to launch, when Nymeria heard the familiar flap of wings in the distance. She looked to the sky, ready to bring the beast down when a pain in her side drove her to her knees.

_Not now, not now! Damn you Frey…_

She dropped her bow, and dug in her side potion pouch for her potion. This was the worst flare yet, her vision swam and it was agonizing to breathe. The male mage, Dorian, was his name, noticed her on the ground and came to her aid.

“Are you alright?”

Nymeria nodded as she found the potion, uncorked it and swallowed the bitter, yet familiar contents in one gulp. She put the White Phial back into the pouch, and grabbed at her bow.

“Dragon,” she gasped out. “There’s a-“

A deafening roar drowned out her words.

As Dorian helped her off the ground, Nymeria spotted Lyanna across the open area they were fighting in, about to release the final trebuchet.

Lyanna looked to the sky in time enough to see the great winged beast breath its strange fire down the center of the field, cutting her off from her companions.

“GO! GET OUT OF HERE! I’LL FIND YOU! JUST GO!” She shouted, knowing that her brother and sister would not leave her behind. She wasn’t going to have them die with her.

Her heart hurt at leaving Cullen alone to deal with this mess, of never seeing him again, but at least he will be alive.

Through the wall of red flames, Lyanna could see Sernon and Ferarrah fighting against Bull and Dorian, who were trying to get them to leave. Nymeria looked injured, and if it wasn’t such a life threating situation, Lyanna was sure she’d be laughing so hard she’d be on the floor with how much Bull was struggling to keep Ferarrah in his grasp.

Tears found their way into her eyes as her friends left her, sadness and rage evident on their faces.

Lyanna lost sight of them, and the dragon circled back around, this time, with figures on its back.

It landed with a loud thud, and Lyanna gripped her staff and held it in front of her defensively.

The dragon eyed her from behind its masters, who were walking slowly towards her.

The most terrifying was a man, she thinks. It was very tall, with stone coming out of its face, long, ragged robes and very long talons instead of fingers.

There was another creature, with ragged and tattered wings protruding from its back, though before she could get a good look at it, it turned into a man with pale skin, dark hair and blood red eyes.

Next to him, was another human, clad in leathers that were similar to Nymeria’s. His dishwater blond hair was long and unkempt, and his stubble was scraggly. There was a malice in his eyes that greatly uneased Lyanna, however.

On the other side of the large creature, were two elves, one holding a chain that was attached to a collar that was around a masked man’s neck.

Both elves had golden skin and white hair not unsimilar to hers. The elf that was holding the masked man’s leash had glowing blue runes etched into his skin, and his eyes glowed that same blue. Runes danced on the chain and on the collar, reflecting on his black and gold robes.

His prisoner was kneeling, as the elf had shoved him to the ground. His robes had scorch marks and dried blood from the man’s injuries. His mask looked like some sort of strange creature though it was pretty banged up. He held his head down, in submission.

The last elf on the farthest left was in ornate armor, and carried a staff with a skull perched atop it. He smirked at Lyanna.

“It seems we found that thief of yours.” He told the monster in the center of the group. They had all gathered around her, leaving her only escape route to be behind her.

Lyanna swallowed. How could she fight off this many and a dragon? She was exhausted.

The creature approached her and snatched her marked hand up, picking her up and raising her to eye level, several feet off the ground. Lyanna spied a mine shaft not far from the trebuchet. That was her escape route. She gripped her staff, and smacked him hard with the blunt end, lightning arcing off of it.

He roared and threw her away from him.

She landed against the unfired trebuchet, her head making a sickening crack as it collided with metal and wood. Dizzy, and fighting to stay conscious, Lyanna clung to the machine, but hoisted herself up anyway.

Several of the men laughed at her, and the roguish one in the leathers gave her a grin full of malice.

“You took something from me, mortal. I want it back.” The monster stalked back towards her.

Seeing her only weapon was a fallen sword, so she grabbed it and held it in front of her with both hands, the trebuchet supporting most of her weight.

“What are you going to do, little one? You’re all but helpless at this point. Just give back the Anchor.” The tall man with the red eyes asked her.

She stared at them all for a moment, committing their faces to memory.

“Fen'Harel ma halam!” Lyanna shouted at them, kicking the release latch on the machine, sending the stone into the mountain with a loud crash.

Using the distraction, Lyanna ran as fast as her legs would carry her away from them, diving into the mine shaft as she heard shouts, the beating of wings, and the deafening roar of an avalanche falling on top of her.

She rolled down the steep embankment, snow falling on top of her and ice shards digging into her flesh.

When she hit the frozen cave floor tears sprung up in her eyes and she cried out in pain.

She felt blood trickle down the side of her face, but didn’t care.

Lyanna just laid there, on an icy and freezing cave floor, trying to breathe and stay conscious.

She mustered up the energy to touch the back of her head where it had it the trebuchet, and cried out again when she lightly touched it. Her fingers came back wet and sticky.

_Just breathe Lyanna. Think of Sernon and Ferarrah. Think of Cullen. Don’t leave them alone. Get up and find them._

With her self pep talk, Lyanna pulled herself off of the stone floor, and began to limp her way out of the cave.            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the events of Haven are slightly changed. Whoopsie.  
> Kudos and Comments are loved!


	10. Aftermath and Finding a New Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna stumbles though a blizzard to find the remnats of the Inquisition, as her loved ones search for her. Solas finds a new home for the Inquisition, a crumbling castle in the sky.

Cold. She was so cold.

Lyanna had never been so scared in her life. Facing those monsters, not even getting thrown forward in time, which should be impossible, scared her as much. She felt as if she had stared death in the face, and what did she do? Basically tell it to go fuck itself. That in itself took more courage than Lyanna thought she had in her.

She stumbled through the cavern, coming across a rift. She cursed in elvish and dipped into the last energy she had.

The demons spotted her and hissed, throwing green balls of energy at her.

She threw up a weak shield, as she could hardly walk, let alone dodge the attacks.

Her mark flared as she got closer to the rift, throwing some weak lightning at the demons.

The mark on her hand, the _anchor_ , as those men had called it, had energy that felt like it needed to be released. Having no other weapon, Lyanna let the mark’s energy burst. The rift that was already there seemed to reverse itself, and sucked the demons back into the Fade.

“Well, that seems rather useful.” She muttered, now alone and still freezing in the cave.

It wasn’t long before she had made it out and into a valley.

The frigid wind whipped at her robes, which were torn, frayed, and slightly burned in some places.

If the Inquisition had come this way, she couldn’t tell. The mountains seemed angry that she had caused the avalanche, and snow and ash rained down on her.

The moon was just a sliver of white against the night sky, so Lyanna let her mark glow, bathing the land in front of her a sickly green.

She trudged through the snow as best she could, her side had gotten stabbed by some ice, and her head was still swimming.

She tried to muster what little mana she could, to produce a small flame to keep her from freezing to death.

It was what seemed like miles when she found some clue that the Inquisition had come this way, in the form of a broken cart. Lyanna breathed a sigh of relief. They couldn’t have made it too far, especially in this weather.  

 

* * *

 

“Ready what spare horses we have! We’re sending out search parties!” Cullen ordered some of his men.

Nymeria and the others that stayed with Lyanna at Haven approached the rest of the inner circle, cold, tired, and covered in blood, ash and dirt.

Cullen, seeing that they had returned, searched the group for Lyanna, and his face fell when he saw that she was not among them.

“Where is Lyanna?” Gone was formalities, she was missing and he felt like he had been punched in the gut by Bull.

“We got separated by the dragon. She stayed behind to launch the last trebuchet.” Nymeria informed him.

“And you let her!?”

Nymeria was angry. She was angry that her one weakness had flared at the exact moment they needed her the most. She could have knocked that dragon out of the sky as soon as she saw it, and killed it in a matter of minutes. Her side still burned, but she could walk normally now. She was angry that the attack happened at all. They should have found an actual fortress, should have had scouts, guards, something to warn them hours before, not minutes.

“Look, _Commander_.” Nymeria straightened to her full, intimidating height, where she and Cullen were about the same height, and stared him down. “I did all that I could. It’s not our fault, so don’t blame us. She made us leave.”

She felt for him, she really did. Nymeria knows only too well what pain it causes when your loved ones are in danger, that they might be dead.

Cullen seemed to deflate a little.

“Look, I’ll go back to Haven, as close as I dare, to see if the army is still there, and to see if I can pick up a trail.”

“I’ll go with you!” Lyanna’s sister, Nymeria guessed, proclaimed.

The mer looked to the tiny elf. “No, I’m going alone. You’ll slow me down.”

She moved to protest, but the huge horned man shushed her.

“I’ll be back in a few hours.” She turned to leave, but Cullen grabbed her arm.

“Bring her back.”

“You have to face the possibility that she’s dead, Commander. Or captured, or mortally wounded. But, I’ll do my best. I can’t perform miracles.”

Cullen swallowed hard and nodded.

Nymeria left the remnants of the Inquisition, back into the freezing unknown.

 

* * *

 

Nymeria waited until she had gone far enough away from the camp before she began to take off her armor. It was break away, modeled after the armor the Circle in the Companions wore, but her guild armor, nor was Nightingale armor that she usually wore under it not.

Her adventures hardly ever called for her to wear the full set, and her werewolf forms were never a last resort in a battle, her mountain-shattering Thu’um was.

She had stripped down and out of her smalls quickly and efficiently, wrapping it all in her black cloak and placing behind a large tree. The air and snow was cold, but if she ever had to change for long periods of time, this was how she did it.

Nymeria made the dragon in her soul relax and let the wolf out, just a little, just enough for it stretch its legs.

The transformations were always quick but rather painful for Nymeria, but she was in constant pain all the time, so she was used to it.

Deciding that she needed speed and not brute force, she chose to use her more wolfish form, one that make her look like an actual wolf, despite being the size of a large bear.

She used her claws on one of her front paws to mar the tree her belongings were under, and set off in the direction of Haven.

 

* * *

 

It was a time before Nymeria caught Lyanna’s trail and scent. She found her, stumbling through the snow, injured and defenseless.

Nymeria approached her like a wounded animal.

_Funny, the beast approaching the elf as an animal._

She kept her head down, her pace slow. Finally, Lyanna saw her, and gasped.

Nymeria looked her in the eye, hoping that she’ll recognize her.

Both her wolf forms shared similarities with her actual self. Her fur was black as pitch and silky, like her hair. Her eyes were the same molten amber, and the scar that marred her cheek was in the same place.

She stopped a respectable distance away from Lyanna, crouching down and wagging her tail, hoping she’ll appear less wolf, and more giant dog. Nymeria knew that if Brynjolf saw her, he’d make fun of her and start calling her pup instead of lass.

“Are you a friend?” She asked Nymeria.

Nymeria nodded her great head, and inched closer to the elf, who had a hand outstretched.

Lyanna took several tentative steps forward letting Nymeria to close the small distance between them. She did, and Lyanna scratched the top of her head. Nymeria licked her palm, and motioned her to climb on her back.

Lyanna did so, grunting in pain as moving in such a way agitated the wounds on her sides.

Nymeria took off in the direction the Inquisition was camping in, not running in a full out sprint as to try and not over jostle Lyanna, but not a jogging pace either.

It wasn’t over long before Nymeria could see the makeshift camp down further in the valley from a hill.

She stopped, and crouched down for Lyanna to get off her back.

“Thank you for saving me. I don’t think I could have made it this far.” The elf gave Nymeria a small, tired and pained smile.

Without any more preamble, Nymeria took off, full sprint back the way she came, headed for the tree that had her belongings near it so she could get back.

* * *

 

He had saw movement up on a hill the way they came, and trudged through the snow towards it, hoping that Nymeria had found Lyanna.

As Cullen neared, he saw a small figure hunched over in the snow, his torch light showing that the figure had hair the color of the snow. There were small drops of blood in the snow.

“Lyanna!” He shouted, and the person’s head lifted, and Cullen’s golden brown eyes met those magnificent green eyes he thought he’d never see again.

“Cullen.” Her voice was weaker than normal, her lips chapped from the cold and blistering wind.

He knelt in the snow with her, grabbing her hands. Even though his gloves, her fingers were freezing.

Without a second thought, Cullen ripped his cloak from his shoulders, wrapping the think velvet and fur around her tiny frame, and scooped her up, bridal style.

When she cried out in pain, Cullen nearly dropped her, thinking he was hurting her further.

“My side. I fell on some ice.” She explained, clutching it though the cage the cloak had made. He adjusted his grip on her as Sernon, Ferarrah and Iron Bull came running up to them, well, Sernon ran, Ferarrah was sitting on Bull’s shoulders.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Cullen asked her as he began to take her back to the camp.

“I hit my head pretty hard.”

Cullen looked down at her. There was a cut above her eye, one side of her face looked like it was starting swell and bruise a little, and she was covered in dirt and ash. But she was alive, and the healers would make her like new again. Cullen had to hold on to that hope.

The crowd parted as they saw the Inquisition’s Commander carry the wounded and nearly unconscious Herald into a tent near the center of the thrown together camp.

He laid her on a cot, and both Hawke and Anders entered the tent, both healers immediately getting to work. Both mages carefully unwrapped her from Cullen’s cloak, and Hawke offered it back to him. He was about to refuse, but Sernon squeezed into the tent, carrying all manners of blankets and furs.

“Alright, everyone out of the tent! We’ve got it from here. Both of us has saved people from worse injuries before. She’ll be fine. Now out!” Hawke shooed both men out of the tent.

 

* * *

 

Nymeria walked back to the camp not long after Cullen had been kicked out of Lyanna’s tent.

As soon as he saw her, he stalked over to her.

“You said you’d find her.” His said lowly, though clenched teeth.

“You might want to check your anger, Commander. She must have found a cave system out of Haven, and it deposited her somewhere I had already been. I saw the footprints. I would have found her just moments ago.”

“She could have been dead by then.”

“She could have been dead hours ago, but she’s not, and is being healed and warmed as we speak. Take care not to dwell on what could be, rather than what is now. Be thankful that she is alive and will be healthy soon.” Nymeria brushed past the man, going over the Josephine, who was bundled in a thick cloak and looking quite miserable, Leliana, also in a thick cloak but wearing the situation with an air of dignity, and Cassandra, who was still clad in her dirty armor and sporting a mean scowl.

“The army and dragon are gone it seems.” The mer informed the women. Cullen joined the impromptu meeting as well.

Nymeria had found Lyanna not far from Haven, and from what she could tell, the army and dragon were gone or buried. Either way, it was good news for them.

“Well, what do we do now?” Cassandra asked them.

Leliana thought for a moment. “We need a fortress, someplace defensible, but also strategic in position.”

Solas walked up to the council. “Perhaps I may be of service.”

 

* * *

 

She felt warm, and her head didn’t throb anymore. Neither did her side, for that matter.

Lyanna tried to move, but she was buried under a mound of blankets and furs. She felt someone grasping her hand, and found Cullen sitting next to her cot, hand on hers, asleep.

Lyanna studied the softer lines of his face while he slept. As if he felt her eyes on him, Cullen woke, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

He smiled at her. “You’re awake. And you’re okay.” He dropped to his knees, getting closer to her cot.

Lyanna pushed back some of the blankets, and sat up a little.

“I’m alive.” She smiled at him, but then turned her eyes downward, remembering all the people that had died, that she really almost didn’t make it back. “I almost wasn’t.” she whispered.

Cullen took her face in both hands, forcing her to look him square in the eye. “You made it back to me. That’s all I care about.” He kissed her, tenderly at first, like she was made of glass, but deepened the kiss when Lyanna responded eagerly.

They broke apart only when someone cleared their throat, both Cullen and Lyanna nearly jumping out of their skins.

It was Sernon.

“Ah, excuse me, Commander,” the tall elf was hunched over a bit in the tent, his eyes finding a spot on his boots to be very interesting. “Asa’ma’lin, Solas wanted to speak with you when you were up. I came to check up on you. The rest of the Inquisition also wanted to know if you were still alive…”

Lyanna could feel her cheeks and ears burning. “Right. I should probably, go. Yeah. I’ll go.” She murmured, embarrassed that her older brother had caught them together.

The mound of blankets that had been keeping the elf warm had slipped down to her waist, and was left in a thin shift over her small clothes and bandages. It didn’t take blood magic to know that her armor and robes were trashed.

Cullen noticed her state of undress, and his cheeks went as red as his cloak. I’ll fetch you something to change into, my lady.” He quickly exited the tent, the cold wind blowing into the tent as he left.

Lyanna looked to her brother, whom had a smirk plastered on his face.

She stuck out her tongue at him. “I’m a grown woman. So wipe that smirk off your face.”

Sernon copied her movement, before replying. “I’m well aware, but, I’m happy for you. So long as you’re sure about him. I know you try to look past people, and what they’ve done, but please, Asa’ma’lin, be careful. He is a lot bigger than you, and he was a Templar.”

Lyanna’s head hung. “Cullen’s a good man. He’s okay with me being a mage, an elf even. He doesn’t care. He sees me for me.”

They were both quiet for a moment. “Are you going to tell him what happened?” Sernon inquired quietly.

Lyanna sighed. “I don’t know Sernon. He’s got demons of his own to deal with. I’m not going to give him mine too.”

The older elf nodded.

Knuckles rapped on the post, before Cullen came back into the tent, carrying a stack of folded clothes.

Sernon ducked out of tent when Cullen entered, giving him a small, knowing smile as they passed each other.

Lyanna pushed the rest of the blankets off of her, and she stood up on shaky legs.

Once glance down and Cullen’s cheeks flushed again.

While the shift was longer and baggier on her small frame; definitely made for a human, the elf’s alabaster legs were on display from about mid-thigh, down. In the glance Cullen had seen, his curiosity was peaked. He didn’t get a good look, but he had seen the same green ink that decorated her face also wound itself on her legs and bare arms too, he noticed.

Cullen, keeping his eyes forward, handed Lyanna her new clothes, blushing all the while.

“Cullen.” She turned his face towards hers. “I grew up Dalish. We don’t have much shame for our bodies. It’s alright to look. I’ve already been told multiple times that my Vallaslin is an oddity that Shemlens like to ogle.” Her tone was light at first, but had a bitter note by the time she had finished her sentence.

“I would never do such a thing.“

“Ir abalas. That came out wrong. My point is, we’re together, Cullen. You don’t have to look away for propriety’s sake, nor because you’re going to offend me.”

Cullen wrapped an arm around her slender waist, the other traced once of the lines on the skin of her shoulder.

He could see that the twisting and curving lines of the tattoos on her face extended down her arms, and presumably, over the rest of her body. Cullen could see a few lines tracing her collarbone from the loose shoulder of the shift she wore. It was not the first time that he had seen a woman almost naked, or even naked. There had been a few, over the years, but his mind thought of the small, passing smiles that Lady Amell would give him back in Kinloch before she had given her life to save him and a few others. Lyanna reminded him of her, her kindness and willingness to help, but the similarities stopped there.   

Cullen need to take a step back before he did something irrational.

He took a deep breath. “I should, uh, let you get dressed before your brother comes back to check on us.”

Confusion found its way into Lyanna’s eyes. Did she do something wrong?

“Right. Of course. Thank you, Cullen.” Her eyes were downcast.  

Cullen gave her a quick kiss before leaving her tent.

* * *

 

It wasn’t as difficult to get dressed as Lyanna thought it would, given the injuries she sustained.

Her side was healed, though her muscles ached everywhere.

The clothes she was brought were simple, yet warm.

Pulling her boots on, which were thankfully saved, and putting her woolen cloak on, Lyanna exited the tent.

As the elf crossed the small, open area that served as the middle of the camp, heads begun to turn and what little chatter there was, ceased. Most of the Inquisition’s inner circle were all standing around a group of crates with parchment and maps strewn across the tops, arguing; Nymeria and Vivienne being the loudest.

“I just don’t see how you think you have any voice here, darling. You’re not part of the Inquisition.”

“I just don’t see how you think I’m not, when I have shed blood and bled for the Inquisition while you cowered behind your velvet skirts.”

Vivienne looked at the elf in a mixture of shock and anger.

Astrid raised her voice. “Look, it doesn’t matter. We’re all sitting nugs out here. We need to find a place to go, and this fortress Solas talked about seems like the best bet.”

“So we can go wandering around the Frostbacks, trying to find it? No thank you.” Dorian chimed.

“What’s this about a fortress?” Lyanna asked, stepping up to the group.

“I know of a place that the Inquisition can rebuild, grow. It’s not terribly far from here, if my estimations of where we are is correct.” The bald elf supplied.

Lyanna thought for a moment, all eyes of the inner circle trained on her.

“I say we find this place. It seems like the next logical step. We can’t just hide in this valley forever.”

“Then we go to this, Skyhold. Wherever it is.” Cullen decreed.

 

* * *

 

Moving the wounded Inquisition though the snowy valleys and passes to get to Skyhold took days. Every horse, druffalo, and bronco was laden down with what supplies they could get out of Haven, or dragging behind stretchers of the wounded. Hawke, Anders, and the other healers stumbled around like walking corpses, exhausted from using every last bit of their mana to save lives.

Even Nymeria wasn’t feeling the best. She wasn’t much of a healer, but she used her skills while she could. She was walking with the Chargers, leading a horse that carried Hawke, Anders, and her packs, as well as what could be grabbed from the Lavellan’s cabin. Nymeria was grateful that Hawke or Anders had grabbed her pack. She had too many valuable things that wouldn’t be so easily replaced on this Plane of Oblivion.

Lyanna led the pack, her great white stag at her side, its fur painted with designs like her tattoos, and adornments on its horns. It too had packs and bundles attached to it. The small elf was quite a ways ahead of the rest of them, up on top of a rather steep hill. She turned back to them, waving, giddy about something.

As Nymeria grew closer, she saw what Lyanna was excited about.

They had found Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I'm obviously using some creative liberties with the werewolf abilities, but I think it makes it a bit more interesting, you know?
> 
> If you guys are interested, now that the plot is developing a bit more, I was going to do a series of one shots dedicated to various characters, parings, and events I may reference in the main work, almost as a side project and to give more flesh to the world. I would also love to do requests, if anyone was interested. just shoot me an ask over on my main blog on Tumblr.  
> elventhief.tumblr.com 
> 
> I also just want to thank everyone that's stuck with me so far. You guys really are the best. This story is nothing without your support.


	11. New Worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang from Tameriel lands in Thedas, discovers some shocking secrets, and finds a new, unlikely ally.

Yeah, Brynjolf _definitely_ hated portals. It took all the nord had to not retch on his boots, and when he glanced over, Vilkas seemed to be in the same way as him. Only the mages seemed to not mind the portals.

When he finally recovered, Brynjolf looked up to see that everyone was gaping at the room they were in like a slaughterfish.

The room was all white stone, illuminated by glowing blue stones that were on pillars around the large room.

They had all fallen out of what seemed like a giant mirror, but it had no reflection.

The mages lit magelights and the small balls of white light danced around the large room.

The platform they were all standing on was elevated, and intricate carved and mosaic reliefs stood out in stark detail and color all throughout the chamber.

The floor was tiled to look like blowing wind and clouds. There was a large statue of an armored woman standing on the landing in front of them, and a feeling of dread washed over Brynjolf. He knew that figure, even armored and from behind.

He walked down the flight of steps and walked around to the front of the statue.

“Bloody fucking shit.” He breathed.

The statue was Nym, in every detail, down to the scar on her cheek, the gold hoops in her ears and even the look she got when she was in full dragon-slaying mode.

Vilkas came around the to the front of the statue, a look of dread crossing his rugged features as he neared it, realizing who the statue was of.

Her mouth was open in a snarl, one that had made bigger and more powerful man and beast alike submit to her. The tiles on the floor made a pattern of wind outward from the statue, almost as if the statue were shouting. She was wielding Dawnbreaker and Liz Viing, the ice sword was thrusted forward, like she was leading an attack. She was clad in her stalhrim armor, and in the light it seemed to almost shimmer like the ice-metal tended to do. What unnerved Brynjolf the most was that in place of a helm or hood like she typically wore, a crown made of dragon teeth was upon her head.

Azarath too walked to the front of the statue, and eyed it critically.

“The architecture is Ayleid,” Valasha stated, looking around, “Well, it has Ayleid influences. The way the rock is carved, the Welkynd stones are obviously from Tameriel, and the carvings are influenced by my people.”

Her comments pulled Brynjolf away from the statue. “What do you mean, your people?”

“I’m an Ayleid.”

Even Vilkas’s attention was broken from the statue at her words.

“All the Ayleids are dead though.” The Companion stated.

“Try as they might, the Alessian Empire couldn’t kill all of us.”

Serana spoke up. “It’s possible. I mean, Nym and I did find Snow Elves.”

“I knew King Laloriaran Dynar. He told me once that not all the Ayleids fled Cyrodiil. There’s more than just her that still live.” Farandare added.

“But how is that possible? We’re not even on Tamriel anymore. How can your people have been here? And, more importantly, why is there a very realistic statue of Nym in a ruin? It’s one thing that the Akavari prophesize _a_ dragonborn, and carve a male Nord, but it’s another thing entirely to make a statue of Nym, down to the weapons she uses and a crown on her head.” Brynjolf asked, a tone of desperation in his voice. All of this was beginning to wear on him.

“I’m not sure.” Valasha looked back to the strange mirror, a thoughtful look on her face. “There’s stories my Gran used to tell us. She told us that once, back before even the Imperial City was built, we had friends from another Plane. Naturally, we all assumed they were a friendly race of Daedra, as my ancestors, and even now, we maintain a close relationship with the Daedra. But anything from that time is lost or destroyed. There’s an old folktale, about mirrors she would tell us as children. ‘Don’t stare in a mirror for too long, or you’ll find your reflection lost, and end up far from home.’ It was a lesson in vanity, you see, but perhaps there was truth in the tale.

“This feels all so… familiar, somehow. The air, the magic, though it’s almost like it’s being held back by a barrier or wall of some kind, it still feels like I’ve been here before.”

“How could it be familiar?” Azarath asked.

“I know from the memories that came with the power of Sheogorath, some of the daedric princes would visit this Plane. That’s probably where the feeling’s coming from. Sheogorath’s instincts are telling me I’ve been here.”

“It still doesn’t explain why there’s a statue of the lass here.” Brynjolf growled.

“It’s clearly been deserted for a long time, but maybe there’s script on the wall, or texts I can try and decipher. This looks like a temple of some kind. There has to be records, somewhere.”

“Look here.” Farandare remarked. She had descended the stairs, and was looking at a carving on the wall near the Iron Gate that led out of the room.

Brynjolf and the others gathered around the carving, it showed Nymeria, standing beside a throne, a small elven woman with tattoos on her face sitting in a throne with long spikes jutting out the sides. The small elven woman was surrounded by a multitude of others, and a symbol was floating above it all, a sword piercing an eye with rays of sun or fire around it.

“If I had to guess, the dragonborn is with these people, and this organization.” The Altmer stated.

“Then let’s find them.” Vilkas had clearly had enough of this place, same as Brynjolf, drew his sword, and opened the Iron Gate.

 

* * *

 

The ruin was anything _but_ empty.

The group fought the largest and nastiest spiders any of them had ever seen before.

As they made their way through the ruins, the Ayleid influence became less and less frequent, to the point where no trace of the wild elves could be seen by the entrance to the ruins.

As they neared the surface, the temperature began to change as well, as it grew warmer and warmer the more stairs they climbed. By the time they made it outside, it was clear they were in a warmer climate.

Vilkas and Brynjolf inwardly groaned. The both of them had never been south of the Jeralls, so this weather was already unbearably hot. Both Nords shed their cloaks and steeled themselves for what may lay ahead.

It was clear there was, at one point at least, civilization on this Plane, otherwise they wouldn’t have even been in the ruins.

Outside, it was clear they were in some sort of mountain range, high up on a cliff, but the entrance to the ruined temple was hidden by rock that acted as a natural barrier to the outside world.

Azarath was the first to turn the corner, and let out a shout of victory as he stood at the top of an open cliff. The others joined the Dunmer, curious to what he saw.

The city was massive to be seen from so far away. Towering spires could be seen even from the distance they were at, though they were mere pinpricks jutting from the ground.

“Seems like a bustling city.” Valasha remarked.

“We can find out what that symbol means.” Farandare noted.

 _I might die from this heat before we even get there_. Brynjolf thought.

 

* * *

 

The trek down the mountain and across the open grass plains was _agonizing._

Both nord men were sweating buckets, and Vilkas even began to shed some of his armor to give him relief from the unrelenting sun.

Brynjolf knew vampires didn’t get cold, but he had to wonder if Serana was roasting alive under her black cloak, which was wrapped around her, as well as woolen black gloves and a scarf around her face; the only thing that could be seen was her blood red eyes.

As they neared the city, it was apparent that sprawling wasn’t the correct word for it. The city was huge, as was the elevated white stone road that led out of the main gate. Luckily, there were ramps on the side that let them join the influx of people moving in an out of the city.

Many of the passerbys spoke a language that none of them had heard before, but common was mixed in more often than not.

It was clear that they were in a very old city when they walked though the gates. The side streets were very narrow, the buildings tall, and made of old brick. There were people everywhere. Many were clearly lower-class citizens, though the upper class were easily identified by their attire, or the fact that several were being carried by palanquin.

The sun was setting fast now that they were in this unknown city, so they looked for lodging.

Now that it was closer to dark, the stall vendors were clearing out and moving though the streets became faster.

Brynjolf couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being tailed.

He looked to Serana, who was familiar with the codes they used in the Guild.

“It looks like we have some mud on our shoes.”

Vilkas looked to his boots, with a quizzical look.

Serana’s eyes slid to the side as they rounded a corner.

“Female, dark hair and skin, fine robes carrying a staff with a star on top.” The vampire told Brynjolf.

Farandare and Valasha had also caught on to their tail. Azarath huffed from under his hood and scarf; the few very odd and frightened looks he got from outside the city had been more than enough for him to cover himself. Valasha and Farandare had also adorned hoods. They looked very different from the elves here, and after a few minutes in the city, it was clear that they were not thought of highly.

They ducked into a narrow, deserted alley. Their tail followed.

They had to walk two by two in order to fit, and Byrnjolf used the darkness of the alley to his advantage. He cloaked himself in shadow, and climbed the wall of one of the buildings, silently dropping behind the woman that was following them. His hands on his daggers, he waited for one of the others to turn and confront her.

It was Farandare that did.

“You can stop with your little games. Why are you following us?”

“Clever, are you?” She smirked at them. She held up her hand and summoned flames to illuminate the area.  

The woman was of average height. Her hair was a very dark brown, as was her eyes. Her skin was sun-kissed and darker like most others they had seen. She wore fine robes of silk and brocade, and the leather appeared to be supple doeskin.

Her robes were black and a deep purple with silver accents, a corset made her ample curves known, though much of the fabric was draped and clasped elsewhere Two snake-like dragons twined together were embroidered on the longer piece of her skirt-like piece that came down to her knee on one side, the leather of her leggings hugging her legs until it gave way to nearly thigh-high high heeled boots.

“I’m following you because you just entered a very dangerous city for oddities.” Her voice was silky, and held a distinct air intelligence, noble birth, and arrogance.

“Oddities?” Valasha questioned.

“I’ve never seen elves like you before. And if the other Magisters catch wind of armed and armored elves in their city anyway… Well, let’s just say that it won’t end well for you.”

“Why would it not?” Azarath drilled

“Let’s go somewhere to talk, somewhere more private. This city has as many spies a Val Royeaux, probably more.”

“Why would we let you do that?” Farandare gave her a glare and not-so-subtly gripped her greatsword.

The woman sighed. “You can call me Blackbird. I’m not going to try and hurt you, I’m just not comfortable talking about this in an ally with your leather-clad friend behind me ready to slit my throat.”

Brynjolf stepped out of the shadows, but did not relax his posture.

“I say we go with her. We’ve had worst odds to face before, alone. Perhaps we can get answers to our questions as well.” Serana, whom had been eyeing the woman carefully, stated.

Vilkas sounded his agreement as well.

Valasha nodded. “Very well. But no tricks, we are more than capable of defending ourselves.”

Blackbird smirked. “Good. Follow me then.”

 

* * *

 

Blackbird led them down twisting and narrow alleys, going further and further into the city before they came to a decrepit building that was perched on the edge of the ocean. They were in a very poor district, and they were all very tired. It had been a long and taxing day. Whatever she wanted, it needed to be over with, soon.

She dispelled the invisible wards that were on the door, and motioned for them to come inside.

The outside was _much_ different from the inside.

The inside was lavish, fine rugs, furniture, and filled books, so many books.

“This is an oasis of mine to get away from my father and his machinations. We’re safe here, I’ve warded the whole building from just about everything.” Please, take your boots off before treading on my carpet and floors, and feel free to relax. Would you like anything? Food? Drink?”

“If you don’t mind. I’m Serana, by the way.” Serana had shed her hood and scarf, so when she smiled at the woman, her fangs flashed ever so much.

“Azarath”

“Farandare.”

“Valasha.”

“Brynjolf.”

“Vilkas.”

Blackbird smiled at them. “Nice to meet you all. And of course, coming right up.”

It was several moments before she came back with a tray full of fruits and sautéed vegetables. She also carried several bottles of wine under her arms, the crystal glasses on the silver tray.

“I’m nothing if not a good hostess. Enjoy.” She told them.

“If you would please explain first your intentions.” Azarath eyed the food critically.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s dangerous for people like yourselves to be wandering around. The Magisters are antsy. There’s talk of uprisings amongst the slaves, the south is in disaster, Orlais is almost in ruin, while that is both hilarious and marvelous for us here, what has happened to Magister Alexius has caused no small amount of shock among the Magisterium. House Alexius is gone, obliterated, because of Altus Pavus and the Inquisition.”

They all looked at the foreign woman with blank expressions.

“You’re not from Thedas, are you?” Blackbird asked simply.

“We’re not, actually.” Valasha supplied.

Blackbird slumped into the cushy armchair she had plopped herself in. “Right. Either I’m going mad or you all _are_ mad.” She sighed. “Then again, my countrymen are blindly following extremists that want to set my Imperium _back_ several centuries, so there’s also that. So I’m going to believe you.”

“We are looking for someone. That’s why we’re here. Can you help us?” Brynjolf asked. This woman was perhaps the only lead to Nym they had.

“Depends. Do you have any idea clues about where she is? Thedas is a rather large continent, I’m afraid.”

Serana grabbed a piece of paper from her pack, handing it to her.

It was a rubbing of the symbol they found in the ruins.

“This is the symbol of the Inquisition.” She murmured. Her head snapped up. “If you need to get to them, so do I. I have information that could prove very useful. I can have passage booked on a ship tomorrow. It’ll take a few weeks, but I can pull some strings to get us a fast one.”

“What sort of information do you have?” Vilkas asked.

“I can’t disclose that. It’s very sensitive information. For the ears of the head of the Inquisition only. I can’t compromise it. That’s why I can’t tell you my name yet. I can’t risk it. Any of it. What I’m about to do could be treason, depending on who you’re asking.”

 _Fair enough._ Brynjolf supposed.

Deeming her trustworthy, they began to eat and drink what she had supplied them with. Serana grabbed a potion from her pack and downed it in one gulp.

“So, if you’re not from Thedas, where are you from?”

Valasha spoke. “We’re from the Plane of Oblivion called Nirn, on the continent of Tamriel.”

“Plane of Oblivion?”

“You don’t know? Well, the explanation is rather long and boring. I won’t bother you with the details.”

“Oh no, please, bore me. This is all endlessly fascinating.” Blackbird had sat up in her chair, her arm holding up her chin, while resting on her knee.

“We might be here a while.” The Ayleid chuckled.

 

* * *

 

Blackbird was a very good listener as Valasha explained the workings of the universe to her. Azarath also commented several times, to add in his own information or snide comment. Brynjolf had dozed off not long after he finished eating, as the couches were very comfortable and he was very tired.

Serana shook him awake after what felt like he had just closed his eyes.

Blackbird yawned as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“I’m afraid I don’t get much in the way of visitors, so I don’t have a guest room. Not that it’d be enough for you all anyway. I have plenty of pillows and blankets though. The couches and chairs are comfortable and the rugs quite plush.

“It’ll be fine. We’ve all slept in worst conditions.” Vilkas grumbled, Serana had woke him up too, it seemed.

Blackbird picked herself up from her chair, disappearing down the hallway for a moment before she came back, arms laden with pillows and blankets. She set them down on one of the couches.

“The washroom is just down the hall, first door to the left, if you need it. The water is heated by fire runes, so be careful. If it’s too hot, just use the tongs to pick up the ice rune. Set it in for only a few seconds to cool it off. Towels are in the linen cupboard behind the door. My quarters are upstairs, if you have need of me, though I am retiring for the night.”

Brynjolf figured he’d take a quick bath before sleeping. It might make him feel better about this bizarre situation. It seemed the rest of them also wanted baths, so he made his quick. The plumbing was very interesting and seemed very useful. He wondered how it worked.

The lights and fire had dimmed when he had gotten out. Everyone had claimed either the couches, chairs, or a rug on the floor, so Brynjolf chose a fluffy-looking rug to curl up on. He grabbed a blanket, though it was fairly warm in the apartments.

He was in a loose-fitting linen shirt and trousers, hoping that would help keep him cool.

Serana had pulled up a chair and was sitting by the fire, reading one of the hundreds of books that were lying around.

He laid down, exhausted from this emotionally taxing day. He had been worrying about Nym ever since he saw that statue, the crown of teeth and bone that sat on her brow. Nym would take the burden of rule if they asked her to, he just knew it. She was that type of person. Brynjolf wanted to be proud, wanted to be happy, but he was selfish when it came to Nymeria. He loved her, with all his heart. The only woman he had ever, and would ever love. He wasn’t just going to give her up because the people wanted to give her a crown. He wanted her to stop all the traveling, wanted her to stay home and _be_ with him. After this fiasco was over, he was going to tie her to the bed if it meant keeping her home. She was not going to go gallivanting across the damn province anymore.

His racing thoughts eventually quieted enough for him to sleep. His subconscious woke him up every time someone got up or came back from the bath, but eventually the apartments grew quiet, and everyone fell into a restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, from what we've seen and heard about Tevinter, either in the games or in the the extra media Bioware releases, I really get a sort of Persian and Indian vibe off of the architecture and fashion. I'm really interested in Tevinter, and I'm excited that Trespasser alludes to the next game being set in the Imperium.  
> Feedback welcome!


	12. New Worlds, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang from Tamriel and Blackbird start their journey south to the Inquisition.

Phaedra woke early, needing to get to the docks to book her and her new friends passage to the south.

She crept around the flat, trying not to disturb her guests as she got dressed.

The Tevene mage bathed and dressed, deciding to add a bit more color to her wardrobe for the day.   

Olive green did wonders for her complexion, so she chose robes that were a shimmering olive green. Her corset was black brocade that was embroidered with golden whorls. The doeskin leather that was on her ensemble was dyed black, and any metal was glittering gold. A symbol of the Venatori, and also the Imperium, could be seen on an arm cuff she wore on, the gold dragons riveted to the black leather.   

Phaedra sat at her vanity, and applied kohl to eyes and a bit of rouge to her lips. Spring in Minrathous was no where near as hot as the summers, but also minding the wind that would be faced on the sea, she opted to put her long curls up in a bun.

Finished with her morning ritual, she crept back down the stairs and into the kitchen, where she grabbed and apple and quietly padded to the door.

Glancing over, she saw that Serana was quietly reading a tome, and nearly done with it.

The other woman set the book down and ghosted over to Phaedra.

“I’m going to go get us a ship south. I’ll be back in a few hours, please, make yourselves at home, the kitchen is the first on the right.” She informed the red-eyed woman.

“Thank you for the hospitality, Blackbird.”

Phaedra nodded. She may at least tell them her name when the get on the ship, and if anyone from the Venatori questioned her, she was on a secret assignment to spy on the Inquisition. It was always easy to lie, and even easier to make someone disappear if they got too curious.

Waving bye to Serana, she quickly exited her hidden apartments, and breathed in the spring Minrathous air. Even though this close to the docks and the poorer Soporati made the air rather foul, Phaedra knew she would greatly miss the city, just as she missed Vyrantium.

Reapplying the wards on the door with a wave of her hand, Phaedra made her way to the docks, and to a ship in particular.

Walking though the bustling crowd as only an Altus could in the Capital, Phaedra came to the particular dock she was looking for. The _Sea Gift_ was a fine Tevene merchant ship, and the captain a friend of hers.

A few of the crew members were loading crates onto the ship, and stopped her as she started to climb the gangplank.

“You can’t go up there, m’lady.” The sailor was young, though it was clear the seas weren’t kind to him.

Phaedra flashed him a dazzling white smile, and even fluttered her eyelashes a little. “Captain Bautista is a friend of mine. He’s expecting me.”

The young man was evidently embarrassed, as he nodded and hung his head.

She climbed up the gangplank, and up onto the deck of the _Sea Gift._ Several more sailors noticed her, and one even had the balls to whistle at her. Phaedra snapped her head in the direction of the sound, before giving the man a glare that had reduced greater men to stuttering messes.

“This lady is our guest! Show her some respect!” A loud male voice called over.

Phaedra turned around to face the owner of the voice, and came face to face to an older man, his face weathered by the sea, but was still rather handsome and dashing in a rugged sort of way.

“Captain, a pleasure as always.” Phaedra smiled at the old sailor.

“My dear! I’m afraid you’re quite early for our appointment. It’s not until much later.”

“I have some important things to discuss prior to that appointment.”

Bautista nodded. “Very well, join me in my cabin, dear.”

Phaedra followed the captain into a decent sized cabin, filled with all the unnecessary and expensive luxuries a lyrium smuggler that was also a merchant captain had. Gaudy and expensive rugs, tapestries, pillows, other needless ornamentation crowded the cabin. The mage seated herself in a wooden chair that was covered in plush velvet pillows that were either Antivan or Rivani. Seemed like a mix of both.

“So, Altus Amladaris, what is this business you needed to discuss?” Bautista poured himself a crystal glass of some sort of amber colored alcohol, as well as one for Phaedra.

“I now have some friends that need passage south as well, discreetly, same as myself.”

“How many?”

“Six.”

“Six?!”

“If it’s a problem…..”

“No, no.” The captain sighed. “It’ll cost you though.”

“Name your price.”

Bautista thought for a moment.

“Twenty gold dragons a head.”

“Twenty a head?! That’s twice than what I’m paying you!”

“This is last minute, darling, I am, however, willing to trade…” Bautista gave the young woman an eyebrow waggle and a sly grin.

“For the last time, I’m not sleeping with you. And this is robbery.” Phaedra was old friends with the captain, but this was steep, even for him.

“It never hurts to ask.” He sighed. “And twenty or your friends can swim south.”

She clenched her jaw. “Fine. But I want complete security. Your crew doesn’t speak to us, doesn’t even look at us. We’re not on your ship as far as anyone is concerned. We make limited docking, only to our final destination, unless absolutely necessary.”

“Understandable. But I’m taking you lot as far as Kirkwall. After that, you can find your own way across the Waking Sea.”

“I’m paying you to take us to West Hill.”

“I’m not docking in Ferelden. Those dog lords search every ship that docks in Ferelden, and the Tevene with extreme prejudice.”

“Why?”

“They’ve cracked down slavers since those Wardens took rule after the Blight, and since the Conclave, they’ve really gotten strict on lyrium coming in. Legal or it gets confiscated, ship impounded, crew and captain thrown in the brig. I’m not risking my cargo, which is going to Val Royeaux.”

Phaedra sighed. “Fine. I have a few contacts in Kirkwall that can help us book passage to Ferelden.” Bautista nodded. “But if I’m paying this much, we don’t dock anywhere else but Kirkwall.”

“Understandable. Your position is precarious. My men will not betray my trust, or yours.”

She stood. “Good. I’ll have your coin this evening. We still go with our original plan in that respect. We should all fit in a longboat.” Walking to the door, she rested her hand on the handle. “Good day, Captain.”

“Good day, my lady.”

“Oh, and Captain?” She looked over her shoulder. “If you have double-crossed me, and I’m walking into a trap tonight, I will turn you inside out. Very slowly and painfully.” With that parting note, she walked out of the cabin, to return to her hidden apartments.

 

* * *

 

Phaedra returned to her apartments shortly after her meeting with Captain Bautista.

She dispelled the wards protecting it, and entered the den, where six set of different eyes looked to her.

“Any luck?” one of the tall human men asked, Vilkas, she remembered.

“I am famous for my ability to come through with a promise and agreements.” The mage smirked.

“So are we leaving soon?” Valasha questioned.

“Yes. Tonight. Captain Bautista is leaving a longboat tied to a secluded dock that way we can row to his ship waiting in the harbor.”

“Why all the cloak and dagger?” Brynjolf asked her.

“My position is rather precarious at the moment.”

“But _why_?” the nord wasn’t backing down.

Phaedra sighed. “Alright. If I’m not safe here, then I’m not safe anywhere.” They all looked to her expectantly. “My name is Phaedra Amladaris, and I’m an Altus in the Imperium. Which means several things, but in my circumstance, I will inherit my father’s seat in the Magisterium once he dies or steps down. My position is precarious, because of the information I possess, and because this is Minrathous.”

“What sort of information do you have?” Serana asked.

“My father is one of the leading benefactors of the Venatori, a movement that is trying to restore the former glory of the Imperium.” Phaedra paused, “What they really are is a bunch of fanatical cultist that want to set my county _back_ several centuries. They want to see the south fall into ruin and chaos, and though it hurts to say this, we need Orlais. And Ferelden too. Orlais may have been a thorn in our side for centuries, but economically, Tevinter needs Orlais, and Orlais needs Tevinter. The Venatori is taking advantage of the civil war, and I know that they follow this, _creature_ , that’s behind the destruction of the Conclave. This creature is a darkspawn, a _talking_ darkspawn. My father met with him, once, and he claimed that he was one of the Magisters that corrupted the Golden City. I did some digging, and much of the evidence I’ve found is that this Corypheus is an ancestor of mine. This information can help the Inquisition, not to mention that I’m a high-ranking member of the Venatori, and I can hand over anything they Inquisition can use to put them on the defense. Most of the Magisterium supports the Venatori, so what I’m doing is nothing short of treason.”

They were all silent for a moment. Azarath broke the quiet. “It seems you’re information is valuable indeed. But, if I may ask, how long will we be sailing? I hate ships. I have spent more than enough of my time on a ship.”

“Weather willing, from Minrathous to Kirkwall, about three weeks. From Kirkwall we have to find a ship to take us across the Waking Sea to West Hill, and then to the Inquisition. He have perhaps a month of traveling ahead of us.”

“Why not have your friend take us all the way?” Valasha questioned.

“Bautista is a… merchant. Ferelden is not kind to Tevene ships, I’m afraid. Don’t fear though, I have a contact that is in Kirkwall, and they will help us get a discrete ship to Ferelden.”

“Sounds like a decent enough plan.” Vilkas remarked.

Phaedra nodded. “Well, I need to go finish packing, so if you’ll excuse me.” Phaedra bowed slightly and went to her chambers.

 

* * *

 

Her plan went off without a hitch. Bautista was as trustworthy as he had always been, and his men kept their heads down and went about their daily business.

Now they were docking in the harbor of Kirkwall, ahead of schedule. The seas and winds had been kind, making their journey swift and calm.

Phaedra had actually enjoyed these past few weeks with her new companions. Brynjolf was funny and charming, Vilkas was quite intellectual, and though he had a brooding demeanor, Phaedra had been able to coax some stories and tales from his homeland. Azarath, Farandare, Valasha, and she had all discussed magical theories and the like quite often, and Phaedra had found a friend in Serana.

They had all gathered on the deck of the _Sea Gift_ , all of them gawking at the City of Chains except for Phaedra.

“The City of Chains. It was built by the Imperium of old, as a mining city. Darktown is what’s left of the mines, Lowtown was built to house the city’s slave population. Hightown is where the Magisters lived and ruled.”

“It’s extraordinary. And rather depressing.” Serana commented.

“I’ve never actually been here, but it’s been the center of attention for about a decade, mostly thanks to the Champion and the Qunari.”

“We’re docked, Lady Phaedra. I wish you and your friends well.” Bautista came and informed them. The deck was buzzing with activity, the sailors more than ready for some shore leave, if only for a day or so.

“Thank you again, Captain.” Bautista took her hand and kissed it, before he started barking orders to his crew.

Soon, Farandare, Azarath, Valasha, Serana, Vilkas, Brynjolf, and Phaedra found themselves climbing the narrow steps to Lowtown, dodging kids and the judgemental looks of several Marchers at the Altus and the elves present.

“Last I knew, my contacts had a room in a tavern called the Hanged Man. It’s in Lowtown, and quite popular. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find.” Phaedra told her group as they weaved their way though the crowded, narrow, and winding streets.

Brynjolf spotted the sign, a metal upside down man hanging from a post, and they all filed into the tavern.

It wasn’t as crowded as it they could all guess it would get as the sun went down. A fire was roaring, warding off the slight chill the stone building had. Phaedra sauntered over to the bar, getting the attention of a few men that were already deep in their cups.

“I’m looking for two men, they’re supposed to have a room here.”

“Hm. You look like the sort they’d be around. Up the stairs, all the way down the hall, last door on the left.”

Phaedra smiled and thanked the man.

Phaedra led the way, following the man’s directions and knocking on the wooden door he described.

A burly red-haired man with a full beard answered the door. “Now what is’t now?” His accent was Starkhaven, and Phaedra could see that he wore the traditional garb of the state, a kilt.

“I’m Blackbird, and you must be Retriever, I’m guessing?”

He stuck his head out the door and looked down the hall. “Come in, quickly.”

They all did as he asked.

The room was much like the rest of the tavern. Only it seemed to be adjoining rooms, a common area, and then the bedroom. A young man was seated in a chair facing the small fire, notes and books strewn about, a half-eaten plate of food sitting on a stack of books on the end table near him. He looked up as the group shuffled in.

“What’s going on?” His accent was Marcher.

Now that they were in the open, Phaedra could see them much better. The one who answered the door was very tall, almost the same height as Vilkas, and his shoulders just as broad. His hair was a deep red, as was his beard. His hair was slicked back out of his face, and fell in loose waved just above his shoulder. He wore an off-white cotton shirt that dipped a little low, and the thick, red hair on his chest could be seen peaking out the top. His kilt was plaid, as they all are, and had shades of deep blue and green. His boots were brown leather, and well worn. A longsword hung at his belt, a dirk on the opposite side.

The other man was considerably smaller, though he wasn’t short. His hair was shaved on the sides, and longer on the top, combed and back a bit. It was a sandy blond color, as was his stubble. He was dressed in a grey shirt and a dark blue vest, black trousers, and worn knee-high black leather boots. He studied the group with intelligent and guarded eyes.

“And you must be the Healer.”

“I am.” His voice was deeper than she expected. “You must be Blackbird. I can’t see any other excuse or explanation to why a Vint is in our room.”

“You’re correct.”

“Why ya here, lass?”

“I have some information that needs to get to the Inquisition, and we’ve corresponded in the past. I was hoping you knew of a ship that could get us across the Waking Sea, undetected.”

The two men looked at each other. “The Friends might be able to do that.” Healer informed them.

Phaedra smiled at them. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for tipping us off about those slavers.” Healer gave her a smile as well.

“We’ll ask aroun’ a bit. Come and see us again on the morrow. We’ll probably have somthin’ for ya then.”

“Thank you. Do you know if there are any rooms available here? Enough for all of us?”

“There should be. Tell Corff we sent you.”

 

* * *

 

They all shared a room, as the rooms in the Hanged Man were rather large, but lacking in furnishings or, anything, really.

It would only be for a few nights, and they all agreed it was pointless to go to Hightown, and much more risky, given the Venatori were everywhere in Thedas by now.

There was one small bed, and several cots they found in a corner. Brynjolf and Vilkas elected to give the bed and cots to the women, and laid out their pallets on the stone floor. Azarath grumbled the entire time, saying that physically, he was the oldest of them all, and that not aging for not having a soul, being a Daedric Prince for the last two hundred years, and being an immortal vampire in no way counted, but rolled out his bed roll not far from the small hearth anyway.  

“So how do you know these men?” Vilkas asked Phaedra.

She was sitting on her cot, and turned to face him. “They’re part of group called the Friends of Red Jenny. They give a voice to elves and the common folk, who usually don’t have much of a voice in Thedas. They take down nobles that abuse power and hurt their subjects, as well as preform good deeds, as a sort. I don’t know much about these men per se, but I’ve helped them in the past.”

“How so?” Farandare asked from her cot behind Phaedra.

“The Venatori are everywhere in Thedas by now, and a few months back, they had come to a weakened Kirkwall, capturing the poor and weak in Darktown and in the Alienage, sending them back to Tevinter. I heard about the operation, and sent word to the Friends. The Friends gave me the Healer’s direct contact information, so now I let him know if there are any slavers in the area.”

“A noble cause.” Valasha commented.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Phaedra motioned for the rest of them to stay put, and grabbed her staff, the Imperial Star, which was leaning against the wall near the hearth.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me. Just open the door.” Came the Healer’s unmistakable voice from the other side of the wooden door.

He looked much as he did before, only this time he carried a greatsword across his back, but Phaedra could feel the same type of energy that a mage’s staff radiated come from the blade.

The Altus motioned for him to come in and she closed the door behind him.

“I have some good news for you, Lady Blackbird. Retriever and I have found you and your friends a ship. And it’s leaving tomorrow.” The young man seemed quite pleased with himself.

“That’s wonderful news. Thank you.”

“You leave at dawn tomorrow. Go to this dock and show the captain this paper. She’ll know who you are.”

“How long are you staying in Kirkwall?”

Healer sighed. “Depends. The city’s as stable as it’s been in years,” a small, sly smile found its way on his lips. “Halamshiral might be a nice place to vacation for a while. We both need a break.”

“I’m not sure how Orlais would ever be a romantic getaway, but to each their own I suppose.” Phaedra offered him her own smirk.

“Oh there’s undoubtly things that need fixing, nobles that need to be taken down.”

“Well, it _is_ Orlais. I may be from Tevinter, but I’m at least not _Orlesian._ ”

Healer laughed. “Truer words have never been said.”

There was another knock on the door, and a red head poked the door.

“There ya are gaolach. I got dinner for us.” He stepped in the room to swat at Healer’s backside. The other man turned beet red, all the way to his ears. The Starkhaven native winked at the rest of them before ducking back out of the room.

Phaedra gave the blond a wicked grin. “Go and wat your dinner so you can get some _dessert_.”

Brynjolf laughed and Vilkas stifled a snort. Serana gave a toothy grin along with Valasha, and even Farandare and Azarath cracked a smile.

If it was at all possible, Healer turned several more shades of red, before nodding stiffly to Phaedra and bolting out the door, either from anticipation or sheer embarrassment.

“Something tells me he’s going to sleep better than the rest of us tonight.” Serana quipped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like Phaedra. I think she's a really cool OC, though she's probably only going to be a small recurring character. I know there's a lot of them ^.^  
> I also think of Starkhaven as Scotland, so I'm incorporating some Highlander culture and Scottish Gaelic. The history of Scotland fascinates me to no end.  
> I love feedback!


	13. Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition has made a home out of Skyhold and a reunion takes place,as well as a few introductions.

The repairs to Skyhold were coming along nicely. Most of the castle was safe and accessible, minus the dungeons, which were in danger of crumbling away at any moment.

Lyanna had been relocated to her new chambers at the top of the tallest tower, stained glass and murals now decorating the space. The rest of the inner circle were given their own lodgings, overlooking the garden that was no longer overgrown. The defenses were being constructed and repaired, and the entire fortress was abuzz with activity. A month had passed since Haven, and while in Inquisition was healing well, everyone took the loss hard, and personal.

They at least had faces to blame, and some names to those faces.

 

* * *

 

_After what would be the War Room was cleared, the entire inner circle had a meeting._

_They all gathered around the enormous wooden table, maps scattered around. The room was drafty, as the windows had long ago been destroyed or fallen out._

_Lyanna placed several sheets of paper on the table, and sighed. Nymeria could see that there were drawings on the papers, portraits._

_“These are the men that attacked Haven.” The elf explained quietly._

_Astrid was the first to thumb through them, placing them on the table one by one until she stopped at one, the last._

_“Anders, Varric.” She showed the two the picture, and the color drained from their faces._

_“What is it?” Cullen asked._

_“This_ monster _is a darkspawn called Corypheus I killed it years ago in the Vinmark Mountains. I don’t see how he could be alive though…” Hawke ran a hand over her face, and through her short, choppy, black hair. “This can’t be happening again.” She muttered._

_The portraits were passed around until they came to Nymeria._

_The first face was that of an Altmer, one she didn’t recognize. When she saw the next, however, her blood ran cold. On the page, an almost exact likeness of Mercer Frey stared back at her. With shaking hands, she set it on the table, and the next had Harkon staring back. She tried to steady her hand as she set the drawing next to Mercer’s. The next drawing was of Ancano, only he had strange runes on his skin._

_At the last drawing, Nymeria nearly punched the wall or burst into tears. Almost both. The last drawing was that of a mask, one that belonged to Miraak, and one that was currently sitting in a locked chest in her personal armory, so that she wouldn’t have to look at it and be reminded that she was all alone in the universe._

_“Nymeria? Are you alright?” Lyanna asked her._

_The elf in question gently placed the last drawing on the table with the rest and took several deep, measured breaths._

_“These four,” she gestured to Mercer, Harkon, Ancano, and Miraak, “I have had dealings with.”_

_“So you know them?” Leliana questioned._

_“All but Ancano,” whom she pointed out, “are very much dead.”_

_“Apparently, so was Corypheus.” Iron Bull pointed out._

_“It’s not the same!” she shouted, the room trembled slightly, just enough to make some of the dust fall._

_The room was silent after her outburst, and Nymeria took the time to calm herself._

_“What I mean is, Mercer had an arrow through his neck, and a knife in his heart. Not to mention his murdering, turncoat corpse is at the bottom of a very deep and cold water-filled cavern. Harkon was_ literally _a pile of ash, that got put on a boat and his ashes spread across the Sea of Ghosts. Miraak-“ Nymeria’s voice caught, “He was killed by a Daedric Prince, the last I saw of him, he was a skeleton left to forever be entombed at the summit of Apocrypha.” Her voice became quiet at the end._

_“Can you tell us about them? Why you fought them?” Lyanna asked._

_Nymeria stared at the Dalish for a moment, fighting an internal battle._

_“Harkon is a Vampire Lord.” At the blank stares of the Inquisition, she elaborated. “Vampires are people infected with Porphyric Hemophilia and it not cured. They are pale, their eyes glow red, and they have long canines, very long canines. The sun hurts them, but they can go out in it if they’re covered or if they just fed. What makes them monstrous is that they feed on man, mer, and beast alike. They drink their blood, and if they don’t control themselves, they’ll kill their victim. Vampire Lords are the worst though. They got their power from Molag Bal, the Prince that created the curse. They’re exceptionally powerful, both is their normal form and in their Lord form.” Nymeria seemed to realise something, and quickly came to Lyanna, where she grabbed the small elf’s head and looked over her face and teeth._

_“Did he come near you? Touch you? Even use magic?”_

_“What? No!” Lyanna swatted her hands away._

_“Good. I didn’t see any signs of infection anyway.” She turned to the rest of the inner circle. “It is very easy to catch the disease. I only have a few cure disease potions on me, and no way to make more of them. So we have to be careful._

_“Ancano is a Thalmor agent. He must have absorbed some of the power of the Eye of Magus, that’s the only thing I can see that explains the runes._

_“Mercer Frey is, well, a fucking bastard. He’s a murderer, a liar and turncoat. And if I get my hands on him again, I swear to Talos-“ Nymeria stopped herself before she went too far. She cleared her throat and looked at Miraak’s drawing._

_“Miraak was a Dragon Priest, long ago. He was in service to the Daedric Prince Hermaeus Mora, waiting to one day take back what he believed was his. He’s very dangerous. His magic is… unique.”_

_“The masked one was collared.” Lyanna told her._

_“What?”_

_“Yes. This, Miraak, was collared. The elf with the runes held a chain that was collaring him. He looked like he had been in a battle. I remember his robes being torn, scorched, and bloody. That Ancano fellow even made him kneel when they surrounded me.”_

_“Then, he’s a prisoner. They’re using him to- Then maybe he can be saved this time.” Nymeria’s brow furled. “Maybe I can talk some sense into him.”_

_“Using him for what?” Cullen asked._

_“It doesn’t matter.”_

_Cullen was going to press the subject, but Lyanna nudged him._

_“Do you know who the last man is?” She asked._

_“No. I don’t. He’s Altmer. That’s all I can tell.”_

_“Well, we have some information at least.” Josephine stated. The Antivan was scrawling away on her clipboard all the details she had._

_“How do you know these men?” Varric asked Nymeria._

_“I’m not going to talk about it.”_

_“Why so defensive? You’re giving vague information. We need as much as you can give us if we are to have an advantage.” Cullen remarked._

_Nymeria’s glare unsettled Cullen._

_“I said, I’m not talking about it.” Nymeria needed to get away from them, so without another word, she left the War Room, the heavy wooden door slamming loudly behind her._

_All of this was quickly becoming too much._

_These men had tormented her, hurt her, both physically and emotionally. They still haunted her dreams, and they represented so many things in her life._

_Mercer Frey._

_Out of Miraak, Harkon, and himself, he was the one that almost killed her. He wounded her so that she constantly lived with the throbbing pain of the poison that coated his blade in her side for the rest of her life. Sometimes the pain was so intense, even for her, that she had to take potions so that she could even function again. He had betrayed the only people that she had become close to, almost made her lose Brynjolf before they were even together. Laying on the cold stone floor of that crypt had made her feel so helpless that she trusted no one, and wouldn’t accept help from anyone. She secluded herself. And she was only eighteen when she had to endure that._

_Harkon._

_He manipulated her on more than one occasion. He liked to play mind games, using his abilities to invade her dreams, and they fact that she was helping Serana, who quickly became her sister and best friend, kill her own father. It was necessary, yes, but knowing her own father was killed and could do nothing about it, Nymeria lost even more sleep over the guilt._

_Miraak._

_Nymeria was furious at him for the longest time. He was powerful, he was cocky, he was everything she wasn’t. He stole the souls of the rouge dragons she hunted down, and he mocked her for it. He beat her down both with his words, and with his voice. She hated that he made her question her relationship with Brynjolf. Bryn was, according to her wolf, her mate. No one could replace that. But Miraak was a dragon too, and the dragon in her was drawn to him in a way that made her despise him. After she learned more about him though, she began to pity him. He thought he needed her soul, and the souls she possessed to get out of Mora’s clutches. By the time they came to their battle, she tried to reason with him, to get him to work with her. She’d help him, they were siblings of a sort after all. Nymeria was tired of being alone. Brynjolf understood her sometimes better than she understood herself, but he could never understand the pressure and what it was like to have the power of a god, to be able to topple mountains with her voice alone. Miraak did. Now she might have a chance to save him, make him see reason. They could live peacefully, and maybe she could have a new friend._

_People had cleared several rooms that the inner circle would be staying in, they overlooked the overgrown gardens, and were rather spacious._

_Nymeria had chosen the last one on the far end, and closed the door. Her things were already in there, a small cot and a table her only furniture. She locked the door, and sunk to the floor. Then, Nymeria did something she hadn’t done in a very long time: she cried._

 

* * *

 

“I’m worried about Nymeria. She’s lost a lot of weight, she hardly leaves her room or talks to anyone. And if she does, she leaves the castle and is gone for days at a time.” Astrid said to Lyanna as the human mage reclined on the sofa of the newly-appointed Inquisitor. Lyanna was sitting cross-legged on her bed, some books and drawings scattered around.

“I am as well.”

“Whatever her history with those men are, it’s shaken her. She always seems so strong and aloof, even. Like nothing can really bother her. She’s against slavery, and rescued a young elven girl, so things _do_ bother her, but it’s like she depressed. Anders’ acted like this right before he finished his manifesto and blew up the Chantry. It’s… concerning.”

“Maybe she just needs some time.”

“Time we don’t have. Anders and I are the closest to her here, and we hardly know anything about her personally.”

“Perhaps if we talk to her?” the elf asked.

“It can’t hurt I suppose.”

 

* * *

 

Nymeria pushed the door to the War Room open, entering the huge room.

The windows had been installed since she was last in here, and the colors and motifs of the Inquisition were worked into the stained glass.

It seemed this was a gathering of the whole inner circle, as everyone was gathered around the huge table.

Nymeria was not dressed for a war council. Her inky black curls were piled on top of her head in a mess, her clothes were too loose and plain, her boots scuffed and dirty. Not to mention how the bags under her eyes were horrid.

“What?” she demanded when everyone looked at her and stared.

Astrid stepped forward. “We’re concerned about you.”

“Don’t be. I’m fine.”

“No you’re not! Look at yourself. Ever since we went over what happened at Haven, you’ve been a recluse. This is the longest conversation you’ve had in a month! You’re going to kill yourself if you don’t stop.”

Nymeria was silent.

“Well?” Astrid’s words echoed though the War Room.

“It’s my fault. All my fault. The blood, the dark. This is what I deserve. The blood of kings and innocents is on my hands. Cold. Dark. Moons. Snow. Red snow.” Cole was in the corner, creeping closer to Nymeria, who was looking at him with wide eyes.

“Cole, that’s enough.” Solas chastised gently.

“You think this is all your fault?” Astrid asked quietly.

Tears sprung from Nymeria’s eyes. “You don’t understand. You can’t. What I’ve done, seen. It just too much. They wouldn’t just come back without a reason. However they did come back, it’s for me. I killed them, I ruined their plans. Maybe the Gods brought them back to punish me for all that I’ve done.” She looked at her hands, her feet, the floor, anywhere but the others in the room.

The room was silent for a long moment.

“Look, everyone has demons. All of us in this room as killed people. Some more than others, but we have.” Astrid explained.

Nymeria looked up at her. “It’s not the same. Trust me. It’s not. You’ve helped people.”

“And you haven’t?” Anders asked. “I saw you stand up to a group of guards that were beating a little elven girl. You saved her, and gave her the means to protect herself. That’s a selfless act.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to any of you. I’ll help you take them down, but just leave me alone.”

Nymeria turned to leave, but Astrid was having none of it.

“We’re your _friends,_ can you get that? We want to _help_ you.”

“The only people that are my friends are thousands of miles away, on a different Plane! They probably think I’m dead!” The chandelier swayed and the windows rattled at Nymeria’s shouting. It was more forceful than the last time it had happened, and everyone stared at her with a curious or wary expression.

Nymeria looked from face to face, and saw what she always did, expressions of people that didn’t understand.

She brushed past Astrid, running out of the War Room.

 

* * *

 

She bolted down the hall, though Josephine’s office, and though the Great Hall. Workers were still repairing and making it presentable, but some guest nobles were milling about. Nymeria ran past them as well, and she was vaguely aware that the inner circle was following her.

She ran down the steps, her destination the gate that led out of the mountain fortress.

Merchants, builders, prospective folk wanting to aid the Inquisition were coming and going in a constant stream.

She ran to the gate, but a hand grabbed her arm and stopped her.

“What are you- Let go of-“ As she struggled and thrashed, her captor spun her and forced her to look at them. When she saw who it was, she stopped immediately.

“Bryn?” she breathed.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and held her tightly. She clung to him like a lifeline.

Brynjolf saw a group approach them, led by a woman with short black hair.

The Nord broke the embrace, and looked Nymeria over.

“What happened to you, Lass?”

The tears in her eyes fell silently.

“Mercer, Harkon, Miraak. They’re all back from the dead, I can’t-“

Brynjolf embraced her again. “Shhh. It’s alright now. I’m here.”

He had no idea what was going on. How could they be back? But that didn’t matter. Brynjolf knew that if that was in fact, true, he knew that she would be beating herself up over it. That would explain why she was mere moments away from breaking down. She had been alone for too long, her already fragile mental health was spiraling out of control.

Without thinking, he scooped her up, bridal style. Despite their truce, the Nord could feel the daggers Vilkas was glaring at his back.

“Is there somewhere I can take her?” He asked the dark haired woman.

“Yeah. Follow me.”

She led him and most of the entourage into a garden, and up a flight of stairs, to a room that overlooked the garden.

“This is her room.”

“Thanks.” He ducked in and kicked the door closed.

 

* * *

 

Brynjolf set her on her bed, which was rather large and covered in furs and woolen blankets.

He let her cling to him as he gently sang an old Nordic lullaby to her, knowing what she needed was a good, restful sleep to help calm her nerves. This was not the first time he had talked her down from a near-hysterical episode, and it would most likely not be the last.

After she had fallen asleep, he removed her boots, and tucked her in the bed.

He snuck out of the room, letting her rest.

The short haired woman was leaning on the stone railing outside the lass’s room, and looked up when she heard Brynjolf.

“How’s she doing?”

“As well can be expected. It’s not the first time stress has worn her down like this,” he shook his head “What in Oblivion is going on here? Harkon, Miraak, and that bastard Frey are all back from the fucking dead?” He snarled.

“It seems so, Nymeria won’t tell us what happened between them though. We’re all worried about her.”

Brynjolf took a deep breath. These people didn’t know the lass. They couldn’t know when she was on a self-destructive path or how to bring her out of it.

“I’m Brynjolf, by the way. I don’t know if she mentioned me or not.”

“She didn’t. I’m Astrid Hawke.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. The lass is a very private person.”

“Yeah. No kidding.”

“She’s under a lot of pressure, and has experienced some of the worst things in life. She doesn’t like it when people get close. It’s just how she is.”

“I suppose I can understand that. Maybe you can try and convince her that we’re her friends though?” Astrid gave him as small, lopsided smile.

“I can try.”   

 

* * *

 

The inner circle had once more convened, this time joined with some new faces. Nymeria was still resting, but Brynjolf would fill her in when she was up to it.

Lyanna rested her hands on the table, and was flanked by her siblings.

“So you’re Nymeria’s friends?” She asked.

“The three of us are.” Brynjolf gestured to himself, Serana, and Vilkas.

“And they are?” Ferarrah demanded, waving the dagger she was cleaning her fingernails with at them.

“I am Valasha, Champion of Cyrodiil.”

“Farandare Larethian, the Vestige.”

“Master Wizard Azarath Salvu, the Nerevarine.”

“Altus Phaedra Amladaris, of Vyrantium, formerly of Minrathous.”

“Altus Amladaris? Why are you here?” Dorian asked.

The Tevinter mage smirked at Dorian. “Altus Pavus. I’ve heard some interesting things about you. I’m here because I have some very valuable information, Inquisitor. My other-worldly friends and I have only known each other for as long as it has taken to travel south.”

“Great. Another Vint.” Bull commented.

“I hope that won’t be a problem, Qunari.” Phaedra commented.

“Not unless you make it one.”

She nodded. “Fair enough.”

“So, who are you exactly in your world?” Lyanna asked.

“I was a Blade, tasked by the late Emperor to finding his son and restoring a Septim to the Ruby Throne. In the process I combated the forces of Oblivion trying to take Tameriel, and ended the crisis, but with the death of the last Septim. I was crowned Champion of Cyrodiil, the highest honor of the Order of the Dragon.”

No one commented that Valasha left out the part where she was literally a god, so Brynjolf kept quiet as well.

“I am the Vestige. My soul was sacrificed to Molag Bal, and I was brought to Coldharbour. I escaped and became an immortal that could never truly die. I fought in one of the largest wars in history, and battled a Daedric Prince and won, as well as brokered peace between three factions. I stopped the Planemeld and saved the continent.”

“Wait, what?” Varric asked. “You can’t die?”

“No.”

“We’re going to talk later.”

“As you wish.”

“ _I_ am the Nerevarine, the reincarnation of Indoral Nerevar, sent by Azura to right the wrongs of Nirn. I brought down the Tribunal in my homeland, Morrowind. I brought back the old ways, freeing my people of the false gods and brought together the great houses of Morrowind.”

“I’m a Daughter of Coldharbour, and Nymeria’s sister.”

“I’m Harbinger of the Companions, and Nymeria’s Shield-Brother.”

“I’m a, business man, of sorts. The lass and I have been together for almost five years.”

“Well, as Inquisitor, I welcome you to Skyhold and the Inquisition.” Lyanna smiled at them. “All of you seem to have more than enough experience, so I would request your council in the matters that concern your home.” She passed them the sketches. “There’s one man we can’t identify. Maybe you can?”

Valasha looked through them and shook her head, passing them to Farandare.

“I know this man.” The Altmer stated. She set the picture of the mystery elf on the war table. She tapped it. “This, is Mannimarco, the King of Worms.”

“Who’s that?” Sernon asked.

“He’s possibly one of the most powerful mages to ever live, and the most powerful necromancer as well. How he’s cheated death all these years, I admit, I don’t want to know what was involved.

“If these others have been resurrected, I guarantee that he had something to do with it.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him. I’m more worried about the Order.” Serana remarked.

“What Order?” Cullen questioned.

“The Order of the Black Worm. It’s a cult of fanatical followers. All the mages are necromancers, most of the foot soldiers are thralls or undead, and it’s an army. Mannimarco wouldn’t have all the influence he has without it.”

“So we have a dragon, an army of red lyrium Templars, an army of crazy mages and skeletons after us, and some fucked up people running it? This just keeps getting better.” Varric scoffed.

“I’ve faced worse odds.” Valasha said.

“Still doesn’t help me sleep.”

 

* * *

 

After Phaedra explained to the Inquisition her position in the Venatori, and how as far as she knew, they were still unaware of her subterfuge, the inner circle dispersed. The knowledge of Corypheus’ identity was only slightly useful information, but once Phaedra blew her cover with the Venatori, it would do a number on morale that the descendant of their leader was working for their destruction. The new comers were given rooms in one of the towers, and settled in.

When Brynjolf returned to Nymeria, she was still sound asleep. He decided on a well-needed bath, and sent for a servant.

He scrubbed all the salt from the sea and dirt from travel off of him, and washed his hair. After his skin was red from scrubbing, and he was satisfied that he was clean, Brynjolf sat in the steaming water until it turned lukewarm.

The servant had also brought him some new clothes, which were simple but would do. He dressed in the tunic and trousers, and requested for his dinner to be brought to him, and some soup for the lass.

After the food arrived, Brynjolf quickly ate, thankful that he had a decent meal for the first time in weeks, but also not wanting Nym’s soup to get cold.

He gently shook her awake, helped her sit up, and handed her the tray.

He grabbed a book that was on the nightstand and opened it as he settled in next to her. He didn’t really read it, as he kept glancing at Nym and around her quarters. The bed was large, and had a heavy wooden frame, not unlike the bed they had back home.

The room was in an L shape, the bed and its two flanking nightstands nestled back into the corner where the feather bed could not be seen when walked into the door, even if the heavy curtain wasn’t pulled shut. There was a privacy screen in the corner opposite to the bed, where the empty metal tub still sat. There were various rugs on the stone floor, and a sofa and several plush chairs circled the hearth on the longest wall of the room.

The room was rather cozy, but it was clear that Nym didn’t care what it looked like. Aside from her papers and books on various flat surfaces, it looked hardly lived in.

Nym finished her soup, and even ate the bread. After her several hour nap, and that she had some food in her, she already started to look better.

“Feeling better lass?” he asked as he took the tray and his and set them both outside the room.

She gave him a small smile. “Yes. I do. Thank you.”

As he settled back in, he kissed her forehead. “You don’t have to thank me lass. I do it because I love you.”

She snuggled next to him, wrapping her arms around his torso.

“I missed you.” She mumbled into his chest.

“And I, you.”

Nym seemed to be drifting off to sleep again, and Brynjolf had to admit, he was exhausted as well.

He carefully extracted himself from her grip, and blew out most the candles, leaving the small chandelier and threw a few more logs on the fire. He pulled the curtain, blocking out most of the meager light was still in the room.

Climbing back into the bed, Nymeria wrapped herself around him, as she often did, her head resting on his heart.

Nym was already fast asleep, and Brynjolf quickly followed.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback welcomed!


	14. Planning Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition begins to get their plan of action together on how to combat their enemies.

It was several more days before Nymeria felt well enough to venture out of her room. Vilkas and Serana also came to sit with her when Brynjolf went out. They sat and caught up, as it had been a few months since she had seen them.

Nymeria could hardly believe the story they wove, about how they had met and traveled with three of the famous heroes of the last few Eras. Vilkas, Serana, and Brynjolf didn’t discuss or mention the temple they had found themselves in when they ended up on the other side of that portal. The knowledge of that would undo the healing she had done.

As a whole, Nymeria was looking and doing much better. She had been pulled out of the self-destructive and self-loathing state she was in. The bags under her eyes were gone after a few days of mostly sleep, and she was putting some weight back on.

She felt well enough to go out and around the castle, and she had an itching to spar. Vilkas offered to spar with her, so Nymeria got ready after her breakfast with Brynjolf.

“So you’ll try and make friends with them? They seem like good people, lass. Give them a chance to prove themselves.” The red-haired Nord said from his chair.

Nymeria was behind the privacy screen, dressing in her guild leathers. “I will. It’s just,” She sighed. “All of this is just so stressful. Them coming back, it’s thrown some of most traumatic and hardest moments in my life back into my face.”

“I know lass. I’ve helped you through all of them. But not everyone is like Frey. This lot seems to want to help. I’m not saying tell them everything, but in order to take them down, they need to have as much information as they can.”

Nymeria buckled the last buckle on her belts and stepped out from behind the screen. Brynjolf looked to her, and smiled. He would never not love seeing her in the black and gold guild leathers. The leather hugged all her ample curves tightly, but still gave her all the movement she needed.

“I’ll have Lyanna call a meeting after Vilkas and I spar.”

“Are you sure you’re up to it, lass?”

She paused strapping on her swords to stare pointedly at him. “Don’t coddle me, Bryn. I’ve been sitting in this damn castle for a month. The only reprieve I had was to go out and run for a few days. I’m honestly surprised Leliana’s scouts haven’t brought back reports of a gigantic black wolf that’s made its home in the surrounding mountains.”

Brynjolf stood from his chair at her words. “You’re being careful?”

Nymeria rolled her eyes. “I’m fine Bryn. And I’m not a fool.”

“I just worry. Who knows what would happen if someone found out here?”

“They won’t. Vilkas and I are safe. I’ve never had an incident, and it’s been several years since he’s even _almost_ had an incident.”

“Ah, yes, well, Farandare is actually one as well.”

A shocked look crossed her featured. “Really?”

The nord shrugged. “That’s what she said.”

“Huh. I never would have guessed that.”

“Maybe that’s why she is.”

“You have a point.”

“Anyway, you should get going. I love you.”

Nym smiled at him. “I love you too.” They shared a brief kiss before she left their quarters, her destination the training ring.

 

* * *

 

Metal clashing against metal rang through the training field.

Nymeria’s Stahlrim sword, Liz Viing, and Dawnbreaker clashed over and over with Vilkas’s Dragonbone greatsword that Nymeria had forged for him, Qahnaarin.

They had been sparring for a time now, and attracting quite the crowd. Most of the inner circle had come to watch, as well as several nobles. Even some of the builders and servants took a break to watch.

They were both master swordsmen. Vilkas had much more raw power than Nymeria, and was quite nimble for a man of his size, but Nymeria was akin to water when she fought. Her swords didn’t weigh her down, and her leathers didn’t restrict any of her movements. If she didn’t parry or block the strikes from Vilkas’s sword, which she often did, it was almost like she was dancing around him. Vilkas’s swings made teeth rattle, and her bones ache, she often opted to simply out maneuver him and strike.

The trouble was, they were Shield-Siblings. It was their job to know how one another fought. Vilkas could anticipate what she would do, and vice-versa.

Both were breathing heavily. They knew they could only keep up with this intense pace for a little longer.

With a roar, Vilkas brought Qahnaarin down with a force that made Nymeria drop Dawnbreaker from her left hand and use two on Liz Viing to keep her guard up.

Over on the edge of the ring, Lyanna stood in between Cullen and Brynjolf. “Why don’t they use wooden practice swords? It’s much safer.” The Dalish asked Brynjolf.

He chuckled. “Because the lass and Vilkas aren’t the type of people to shy away from a little danger. And those wooden swords would be splinters by now. They don’t pull their swings. Its full contact, full force. That’s why she dodges more than blocks. Vilkas’s swings can cleave a man in two. Trust me, I’ve seen it.”

“Maker.” Cullen gasped. Lyanna’s own eyes were wide.

“Besides, this isn’t a fair fight, per se. The lass’s true talent is with a bow and arrow. If this was real fight, it would have been over before Vilkas could even throw a swing at her.”

Nymeria gritted her teeth. The two of them stayed there for several moments, sweat dripping down their brows and refusing to budge.

Finally, Nymeria felt her knees begin to buckle. She slid out from behind her blade and dropped it, sending Vilkas into the dirt from the sudden change. Before he could recover, Nymeria kicked his blade away and leaped on top of him. They rolled in the dirt, fighting for an upper hand on the other. Somehow, Nymeria got her legs wrapped around Vilkas’s neck, and he realized that he was beaten. He had seen her snap a man’s neck like this, so he tapped her thigh three times and she released him.

They both picked each other up off the ground, covered in sweat and dirt and breathing heavily. Embracing each other in a companionable hug, they picked up their discarded weapons and exited the ring.

Brynjolf handed Nymeria a canteen of water, who thanked him.

“That was impressive, Lady Nymeria.” Cullen complemented.

She swallowed the water and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Thank you Commander. But what’s really entertaining is Bryn and I sparring.” She gave the Nord a sideways smile.

Lyanna seemed surprised. “You’re not afraid of hurting one another? I don’t think I could ever attack the one I loved, not even in practice.”

“It’s different for everyone I suppose. I’ve fought my entire life, in one form or another.” Nymeria explained. “Now, if you’d excuse me, I believe that my tub is calling my name.” She bowed her head slightly and left the small group, heading towards the great hall.

“The lass asked if you’d call another meeting. I’ve talked to her, and she’s willing to talk. She likes her long soaks, so it will probably be a while before she’s ready again.”

Lyanna nodded, and Brynjolf said his goodbyes.

“Did you mean that?” Cullen asked. Lyanna turned and faced him fully.

“About what?”

“About not being able to raise a hand to someone you love, even in sparring.”

He got lost again in her enormous green eyes. “Yes. Of course. I’ve sparred with Sernon and Ferarrah since we were kids, and they’re my siblings. I just have to think of a time they’ve annoyed me or angered me and its fine. But, it’s different with someone I care for deeply. I pains me to even think about trying to hurt them.”

Cullen didn’t know what to say. Lyanna could be sarcastic and witty when she was feeling cheeky, but she was such a kind and gentle soul, much like her older brother. Cullen couldn’t fathom where Ferarrah’s abrasive and loud personality came from, as her older siblings where so kind and tended to more quiet.

“I couldn’t harm you either.” Cullen told her quietly. He wanted to kiss her, to hold her, but they were in the middle of the training field.

“I have some things I need to go over with you before I call the meeting. Do you mind taking lunch in my quarters?” Lyanna asked him. It was true, she did need to discuss a few things about the troops and where she was needed most at the moment, but she also wanted to spend some time alone with him.

Cullen smiled. “I’d love to.”

* * *

 

Lyanna’s quarters were huge, and Cullen had to admit, he was a little jealous.

There were large windows and glass doors that led to the two large balconies that overlooked the Frostbacks and the rest of the castle. The motifs were of nature, with tree branches and vines twirling about. The ceiling was very high-vaulted, and vines and flowers twisted and wove themselves all over the walls and ceilings. Her bed was huge, and looked like it was made from massive pieces of driftwood. More flowers and vines had found themselves growing on the bed as well. The hearth was roaring, heating the huge bedroom. Several unfinished and sketched out murals were on the few larger open spots of stone. A desk also sat in the corner opposite to the staircase, which also had plants weaving through it. Her whole room looked more a forest than bedroom.

It was the first time that Cullen had been to her quarters since they were finished with the glass, repairs, and moving her furniture in. Now it was clearly lived in.

Lyanna saw his wide-eyed expression and laughed. It rang though the room, clear as a bell and music to Cullen’s ears.

“What? But, _how_?”

She grinned at him. “Dalish mage, remember? I can make the plants grow how I like, so I did. I couldn’t stand the cold stone walls, so I brought the outside, in.”

“It’s incredible. You’re incredible.”

A faint blush appeared on her cheeks. “It wasn’t that hard, I assure you. It only took a few minutes.”

“I’ve never seen magic like this before. If the Chantry knew that it existed-“ Cullen stopped himself.

Lyanna had an uncomfortable look on her face. “They’d suppress it until all that knew how were dead.” She whispered.

Cullen suddenly felt ashamed. He had left the Order, but there was a time, not all that terribly long ago where he wouldn’t have felt that this was beautiful. It would have been horrifying, and sickened him that a mage could command nature for their own bidding. He would have hated her.

Lyanna noticed his expression. “Cullen?” She placed a slender hand on his cheek. His stubble felt rough and strange on her fingertips. “It’s alright. It was a large part of your life. I can’t just expect you to pretend you weren’t a Templar for my sake.”

“It’s just-“ Cullen didn’t finish his thought and bit his tongue. Their relationship was too new. He would tell her, one day, about the horrors of Kinloch. About why he hated mages for so long and why it disturbed him that if they had met years ago…

“Just, what?”

“It’s nothing.

“Cullen, it’s never ‘nothing’.”

He sighed. “Sometimes when I look or think of you, I’m reminded by some things I’m not proud of. I don’t want to go into detail right now, but it just upsets me.”

Lyanna didn’t prod further. “You’re a good man Cullen. And just know that you can tell me anything.”

“Maker, where did you come from?” He gave her a small smile as he wrapped his arms around her, one resting at the small of her back, the other behind her head, his gloved fingers running though her long ivory hair.

“The forest and the Fade.” Lyanna giggled before she pulled him down for a kiss.

Cullen returned it eagerly, careful not to press her too close to him and crush her between his arms and his breastplate.

Lyanna was on her tip toes, using the top of his breastplate to hoist herself up just a little more.

Seeing that she was struggling, and wanting to have a little fun, Cullen picked her up by her waist and spun her around.

Lyanna broke the kiss, squealing. Her hands moved to his shoulders as he lifted her above him. Cullen could hardly believe how easy it was to pick her up, and this was much more enjoyable than the last time he had carried her, not knowing if she was dead, or dying.

“Cullen! Put me down!” She was smiling and laughing, so Cullen kept her in the air, suddenly twirling her at random times.

“What’s the magic word?” He grinned up at her.

“Sathan! Sathan!”

Cullen still held her aloft, but stopped spinning her. “I don’t think it’s that fair to use elvish. You could be swearing at me and I’d never know.”

“Please?” She offered.

Cullen grinned at her before marching her over to her bed, and promptly threw her on it.

Lyanna screamed when she left his grip, before she landed on the fluffy featherbed. Her hair had fallen into her face, and she half blew, half huffed some of it out of her face.

“I don’t think you realise what a dangerous game you’re playing, Commander.”

Cullen stood a pace away from her bed, his arms crossed and an amused expression on his face.

“Commander? And what happened to not being able to even spar with me?”

“She flashed him a wicked smile. That’s real fighting. This is about revenge.”

Cullen scoffed. Lyanna climbed off the bed and stood in front of him, her face as close as they could get without her standing on her toes. She craned her neck up, and he looked down at her.

“I think you’re at a disadvantage, my dear.”

“Oh really?” She placed her hands on the sides of his face, and moved one back behind his neck. Playing with the hair on his nape. Cullen’s arms were draped at her waist. She drew him in for a kiss, and just before their lips met, she dodged him and slipped out of his grasp, a slightly stunned and disappointed expression on his face.

Lyanna was across the room before Cullen even reacted, grinning and giggling.

Cullen’s gaze darkened, and he stalked over to her. Lyanna’s nerves hit her with full force. He was looking at her like she was something to eat, and Lyanna felt like a frightened halla in the woods.

Just before Cullen could grab her, there was a knock on the door. Cullen seemed to be pulled out of whatever trance he was in, as was Lyanna.

“Come in!” She squeaked. No one had ever looked at her like that. It both excited and frightened her.

Two servants came in, each carrying a lunch for the two of them.

They set the trays on the rug in front of the hearth, knowing that Lyanna took her meals there anyway.

Cullen had immediately adopted a professional stance and facial expression, so Lyanna tried to do the same.

“Thank you.” Lyanna told them.

The servant’s bowed. “Are you alright m’lady? You look a little flushed.”

“I’m okay. Ma serannas.”

The servants left, leaving Cullen and Lyanna alone once more.

Lyanna glanced at Cullen before she walked over and sat on the cushions, cross-legged.

Cullen felt awkward. Had he overstepped? Lyanna had looked like a scared deer. It made him wonder, was this her first relationship? The way she acted shy and unsure made him think that was the case.

He walked over to the cushions, sitting down on the plush rug and making himself comfortable among the pillows. This close to the fire, it was rather warm.

“Are you warm?” She asked him.

“It is quite warm in here.”

Lyanna waved her hand, the fire shrunk and the glass doors opened. Cullen glanced and saw the vines that had unlatched the doors slide back into place.

The cool late spring mountain breeze found its way into Lyanna’s room.

Cullen looked at her with curiosity.

“What?” she asked.

“You use magic so casually. It’s just, different than what I’m used to.”

“I was taught to not hide my gift, except when around shem-, er, humans.”

Cullen nodded.

Lyanna began to eat her midday meal, which was comprised of a salad, full of various fresh vegetables and fruit, bread, and what looked like roasted venison.

Cullen’s meal was a hearty Ferelden stew, with carrots, potatoes, corn, green beans, and roast beef, which was also served with bread.

“So, any reports? Where does the Inquisition need me most?” She asked in between mouthfuls.

Cullen sighed. He loathed to send her into danger, and away from him, but duty called. “Altus Amladaris needs to rejoin the Venatori before she rouses suspicion. Sending her to the Hissing Wastes is the best way to keep an eye on them, at least until she outlives her usefulness in the cult, or they discover her betrayal.”

“Is there anything we can do to keep her safe? Send a few of Leliana’s scouts to keep an eye on her?”

“If we send the scouts, it could blow her cover faster. I’m afraid that she’ll have to be on her own in this.”

Lyanna frowned. “She seems like a good woman, and could really do right by Tevinter. I hate to send her into a den of vipers with no means of help.”

“She knows the risks, otherwise she wouldn’t have offered to spy on them for us.”

Lyanna nodded. “I suppose that’s true.”

“As for where you’re needed, Crestwood, a village on the edge of the Bannorn, sent word this morning that a Rift as opened in the caverns below the lake. Demons and undead are pouring out of the lake and attacking the village. Our scouts have also made note of a good fortress that would prove useful in acquiring, and several more active Rifts that need closing are also in the surrounding foothills.”

“That’s not overly far then?”

“No, on horseback, a week at the most.”

“Good. If these people are in danger, we should go as soon as possible.”

Cullen nodded. “We can discuss the rest of the details at the council, so it need not be repeated.”

“Of course.”

They ate in silence after that, not wanting to be late for the council meeting, but also enjoying each other’s company.

They had not been long finished eating, when a knock on the door sounded.

“Come in!” Lyanna shouted.

Lyanna’s personal servant, a small slip of a girl came in, and collected the trays.”

“You’re looking much better, m’lady.”

Lyanna smiled at the girl.

“Sister Nighingale also requests your presence in the War Room presently.”

“Of course, thank you.”

* * *

 

The whole of the inner circle filed into the War Room, taking their now-normal positions around the massive table.

With everyone present, Lyanna called to attention.

“There are several things that need to be discussed. First, I think, is Altus Amladaris’s rejoining of the Venatori.”

Phaedra stepped closer to the table, resting a hand on the ancient wood.

Leliana spoke. “Your intel has made us determine that you would best be used in the Hissing Wastes.”

If the Tevene was upset, she didn’t show it, but her tone did. “If I must trudge through an endless, vast wasteland of bloody sand then, fine, I’ll go.”

Cullen spoke next. “There is also the matter of where the Inquisition is needed currently. We received an urgent missive this morning from the village of Crestwood. A Rift has opened under the lake, and the village is besieged by demons and undead.”

“My scouts have also reported Red Templars in the area as well. And there is more, troubling news. One of my scouts went missing, and was found, drained of blood and his throat ripped out.”

Everyone from Tameriel muttered “Vampires.”

“That is what we believe yes, going off what little information we have on them.”

“Then you’ll need those who are vampire hunters to go.” Nymeria commented.

“If you are willing, yes.” Lyanna offered.

“Talos, _yes_. I need to get out of this damn castle.” Nymeria nearly shouted. Several people chuckled.

“I’m going.” Sernon voiced.

“Me too!” Ferarrah added.

Brynjolf and Vilkas also said they were going, as did Valasha. Astrid and Anders also expressed their wish to go as well. 

“We’ll have more than enough to fight back, as well as keep the village safe.” Lyanna remarked.

“I also wanted to apologize for my behavior these past few weeks, Nymeria said quietly. “I’m a private person, you see, and I’m not used to so many people, mere _strangers,_ wanting to help me. I’ll help you in any way I can, so ask and I’ll try and give an answer.”

Leliana asked first. “How do you know them?”

“Mercer was my guildmaster when I first joined.”

“Guildmaster of what?” Varric asked.

“We’re a guild of merchants.”

Astrid raised an eyebrow at that. “If you’re a merchant, I’m a bloody dragon.”

“What the lass means is, we’re in the business of making money.” Brynjolf offered.

“By stealing.” Valasha muttered. Everyone turned her attention to the Ayleid. Nymeria narrowed her eyes at the other woman. Valasha gave her a small smile. “Wear the title with pride, Dragonborn. You’re not the only one with a foot in the Underworld.”

“Dragonborn?” Lyanna asked.

“A topic I do not want to discuss.” Nymeria said quickly. “Anyway, Mercer murdered his predecessor, Gallus, and blamed Gallus’s lover, Karliah. The guild lived in ignorance for years before I uncovered the plot and Mercer nearly killed me. I…would have died if Karliah hadn’t shot me with arrow coated in a very potent paralysis poison.” She looked to Dorian. “Remember when I collapsed at the Battle for Haven?”

The Tevene nodded.

“Mercer stabbed me in the side with an enchanted blade, coated with this unknown poison. It’s never fully healed, and the poison still lingers. I can usually take the pain, but sometimes it flares. I have to take a potion to even breathe it pains me so bad.”

Brynjolf slid his hand into hers, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

“We tracked the bastard to a ruin, where he was trying to steal the Eyes of the Falmer. We stopped him, I threw a dagger that landed in his chest and put an arrow though his neck for good measure.

“Harkon was Serana’s father. He was a madman, who tried to fulfill a prophesy called the Tyranny of the Sun. He was going to could the sun so that his people could roam the land, undeterred by the sun. Serana and I stopped him with the Dawnguard. We stormed Castle Volikar and destroyed his followers, leaving him a pile of smoking ash on the floor.

“Ancano is a ‘Thalmor advisor’ to the College of Winterhold, where he really was just a pompous ass that reported everything we did to those Thalmor bastards. Arch-Mage Aren sent word to me when they had found a strange object in a crypt near the College. It turned out to be the Eye of Magnus, an object that’s rumored to give limitless power. Ancano, being the bastard he is, stole power from it. I was attempting to fight him when I ended up here.

“And Miraak…. Things are complicated. He is like me, in a sense. He was trying to kill me and steal my power to return to Nirn, to reclaim what he thought was his and to escape the clutches of Hermaeus Mora. I tried to reason with him, tried to help him, but he saw no other alternative. It saddened me that he had to die, but maybe this can be his second chance, if what Lyanna says is true, and he’s being held against his will.”

“What about the last one?” Cullen asked.

“Mannimarco? He is my burden.” Farandare explained. “He was responsible for starting the Planemeld. He betrayed the other Five Companions of Emperor Varen, trying to gain the power of Molag Bal and becoming a Daedric Prince in his own right. He failed, naturally, and was to spend an eternity in torment by the hands of the Lord of Brutality and Domination. When I was fighting though Molag Bal’s palace, I found him, and pitied him. I let him go, and I heard whispers over the centuries about him trying other ways to gain immortality. How he has found one, I’m not sure, nor how he has managed thus far. But one thing is certain, He is most likely behind these resurrections of long-dead enemies.”

“Right now, we need to focus on what we do know.” Cullen interjected. “We know from Lady Lavellan’s journey into the future, that they are going to tear Orlais apart, as well as raise an army of demons. We need to secure Orlais, to prevent the country and it’s army from falling apart, or tearing each other apart.”

“Ah yes! I have some news regarding that!” Josephine proclaimed. “The Inquisition has been invited to the Winter Palace for a week-long masked ball. Empress Celine and Lord Gaspard are going to negotiate a peace, or in the terms of the Great Game, one will die and one will rule Orlais.”

“How long do we have, Josie?” Leliana asked.

“Currently, in about six months’ time, and the whole inner circle must attend.”

There was a collective groan from most present.

“Now, now, this is important, and we must show that we take interest in the affairs of Orlais, _all of us._ I will hire the best tailors form Val Royeaux to make sure everyone has the appropriate attire.”

Nymeria rolled her eyes. “Do I look like I wear dresses? I don’t even own a dress, not to mention know knowing how to dance.”

Vivienne scoffed. “Can’t say I’m surprised, darling. You and your friends look like you have as much tact as a box.”

Before Nymeria or the others could say something in retort, Valasha spoke up. “I’ll have you know that I myself, am leader of a court. I am very well versed in the machinations of politics. I had to be.”

“As am I. I created a peace between the Imperials and Stormcloaks, man, mer, beast, and dragon.” Nymeria stated.

“I hosted and created a peace between the Altmeri Dominion, the Ebonheart Pact, and the Daggerfall Covenant.” Farandare proclaimed.

“I-“ Azarath began to say, but was interrupted by Vivienne.

“Yes! I stand corrected. You may have tact, but none of you are prepared to play the Great Game. Most of the Inquisition would not last a night in the Winter Palace.”

“Then we learn.” Lyanna simple stated. “We have no choice but not to.”

“Will I be attending?” Phaedra asked.

“It might be well to have another Altus there, to show Thedas that Tevinter also cares about what happens to the south. Navigating the politics of Minrathous is not much different than the Great Game.” Doran pointed out.

“If it does not interfere with her duties as a Venatori spy, then I agree.” Cullen added.                            

“Then yes, Altus Amladaris, you will join us at the Winter Palace.” Josephine informed her with a small smile.

“As long as I don’t have to dive elbow-deep into wyvern shit in order to impress some pompous Orlesian nobles, I suppose I can suffer through a terrible party. As long I get some ‘ _cheese that tastes of despair’._ ” Hawke mocked in a bad Orlesian accent. Varric and Anders chuckled, while Vivienne, Cassandra, and Leliana looked on disapprovingly.

“Ugh.” The former Seeker rolled her eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if anyone is interested, I posted a little one shot about Phaedra, if anyone cares to read. It doesn't fit into the fic, so it got posted separately. Enjoy!  
> Feedback welcomed!


	15. First Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Needed in Crestwood, Inquisitor Lyanna and her companions from both Thedas and Tamriel set out from Skyhold to take back the region from demons, undead, and the suspected vampire.

The sun rose over the Frostbacks, though the castle that held up the sky was already up and active, preparing for various departures.

Phaedra strapped her staff, the Imperial Star, to the back of her horse, a great beast, bred for the sand and harsh climate of the Anderfels and the Western Approach.

Someone cleared their throat behind her. Phaedra turned and found that it was Varric.

“Avanna, Varric.”

“Hey. Look, I’m not good with goodbyes, but, be careful, alright? Those guys are pretty nasty.”

Phaedra smiled at the dwarf. “I’ll be careful. I know how to handle the Venatori. Besides, they do what I tell them. I’m a direct descendant of their ‘Elder One’.”

“Exactly. They might go manic or something. And don’t get eaten by a giant lizard or whatever is out in that desert.”

Phaedra smiled. “I’ll be careful Varric.”

“Right. Well, I guess I’ll see you in a few months then.”

Phaedra mounted her horse. “Don’t despair. You’ll have me back to knock you over again in no time.”

Her words made Varric laugh. She gave him one last parting smile before she spurred her horse into a trot towards the main gate.

 

* * *

 

The gate to Skyhold was busy and crowded. More and more building supplies, furnishings, and people were coming though the wide gate, and the envoy that was leaving to go to Crestwood was loitering near the entrance. Nymeria was astride a great black beast, her weapons and supplies heavy in the saddlebags. Brynjolf had a rather fetching Ferelden Courser, his pack strapped on with his saddlebags. Vilkas was on a grey mare, his greatsword hanging off the saddle but well within reach. Valasha mounted her horse, a grey and white. Astrid finished tying off her saddles, and Anders secured his staff to the back of his horse. The three Lavellan siblings were also tying off their saddles, though they were on no horses. Sernon climbed up on a dark brown and light brown hart, Ferarrah a reddish-brown and white hart, and Lyanna held the reins of a great white beast, which was prodding at the ground with impatience.

Phaedra trotted to the gate, waving her goodbyes before disappearing in the throng of people down the bridge.

Shortly after, the group was ready to depart. Those that weren’t mounted did so, and began the long journey to Crestwood. Lyanna gave a look back to the castle, waving to the blur of crimson red that was looking over the wall. She was going to miss him dearly.

It was a few hours of traveling before anyone really spoke up to the group as a whole.

Lyanna, Sernon, and Ferarrah were leading the pack, Astrid, Anders, and Valasha behind them, with the Nymeria, Brynjolf and Vilkas bringing up the rear. The envoy that was traveling with them a short way behind them. With the small company of soldiers and scouts riding or walking with it.

“Alright. I can’t stand the silence anymore. Someone tell a story or something. Being around Varric again has had me spoiled.” Astrid complained.

“Lass? One of your stories maybe?” Brynjolf asked.

Nymeria rolled her eyes. “I’m horrid at stories but I suppose I can try an old folktale.

“There once was a boy, nearly a man, who wanted to surprise his mother on her nameday. He was a mage, you see, as was his mother.

“So the foolish boy summoned a Dremora, a daedra, to help him. The Dremora did was Dremora’s do, expressed their disgust for mortals and mocked him, but the boy commanded him to be quiet and help, and the daedra was forced to.

“The daedra told the boy he needed a soul gem, and handed him one, but this gem was a black soul gem, and could trap the soul of a mortal.

“The Dremora told the boy that in order to make the enchanted dress he wanted for his mother, he had to trap a soul. The boy did not know how to trap a soul, and the Dremora showed him by casting the spell on the boy.

“The boy was puzzled, as nothing had changed when the spell was cast. But Dremora are cunning and prey on the weak and ignorant, and by accepting the soul gem, the boy had broken the summoning contract, releasing the daedra from his bonds. The Dremora then pulled out the boy’s heart and laughed as his soul was sucked into the gem. The dremora then went off in search of the boy’s mother, now free to walk Tamriel until it is killed and sent back to Oblivion, to only be summoned again by another foolish and reckless mortal.” The elf finished.

“Well. That’s certainly one way to fill the silence.” Astrid remarked.

“It’s an old tale,” Valasha commented. “It has various forms and details that change, but the core of the story is there. It’s to caution young mages or young people in general to not deal with daedra. It’s dangerous.” Vilkas and Brynjolf gave her a sideways glance.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the journey passed rather quickly. The days were passed quickly with conversations and storytelling, the nights much the same. The weather was mostly well, only raining a few times (it was spring in Ferelden after all). Nymeria seemed to grow more and more at ease with her current traveling companions as the days passed.

On their eighth day of traveling, the rain began early that morning and by noon, it was still pouring.

They came to a camp off the main road, the banners of the Inquisition soaking wet but still proud.

The envoy was to stay with the main camp, and the party dismounted and used the time for some much-needed stretching.

Scout Harding approached Lyanna. “The demons and corpses still keep coming out of the lake, ma’am. We’ve sent a few of the men we can to help the town, but if the rift doesn’t close, the fighting’s pointless. There’s also been reports of some Grey Wardens in the area, but why they’re here, we have no idea.”

“Thank you, Harding.” The elf responded. The dwarf bowed and went about her business.

“We leave the horses here. We can’t have them getting spooked by the demons and running off.” Lyanna told the party.

They grabbed what weapons and supplies they would need for battle, and handed off their mounts to some scouts.

It was chilly with the rain, but a cloak was pointless at this point, so they all had shed the sopping wet material and were in their robes and armor.

They started down the muddy road, their boots squishing under foot. Lyanna headed the group, her brother and sister flanking her. Nymeria was also up front, her bow in hand and an arrow knocked and ready.

It was a short jaunt down the road before they came to a crossroads, where two people clad in blue and silver were walking, blades drawn. As they neared, the warrior’s heads snapped to attention, their gaze drawn to Anders.

Lyanna greeted them. “There’s not darkspawn here is there?”

The two Wardens regarded Lyanna with a scrutinizing gaze. She by far did not look like the Herald of Andraste or the Inquisitor, but Lyanna had quickly learned to carry herself like one.

“We’re looking for a Warden named Stroud. Have you seen him?” One of the Wardens asked.

“You’re looking for Stroud? Why?” Astrid asked warily.

“He’s a traitor to the Wardens.”

Astrid looked taken aback.

“Stroud would never betray the Wardens.” Anders stated.

“Like you did?” The Warden’s eyes flashed dangerously.

Anders’s spine straitened and his jaw clenched. “Leaving is different.”

The Warden scoffed.

“I’m Inquisitor Lavellan,” Lyanna interjected. “The village of Crestwood is not far from here, and it’s besieged by demons and undead. We could use a few more warriors to help us.”

“Wardens don’t involve themselves in political affairs.”

Lyanna was taken aback. “There’s nothing political about helping a village that’s in danger!”

Astrid put her hand on the elf’s shoulder. “Let them be. They’ve clearly got better things to do now that there hasn’t been a Blight in over a decade.” Astrid narrowed her eyes in a challenge when the Wardens put their hands on the hilts of their swords. A tense minute followed before they shook their heads and brushed past them. 

When they were out of ear-shot, Astrid spoke. “In my experience, Wardens tend to be pricks. By brother included.” Anders rolled his eyes.

“But why won’t they help?” Lyanna asked.

“Because they’re stupid shemlens. They only help when it helps themselves.” Ferarrah commented.

Astrid raised an eyebrow, but bit her tongue.

They continued down the mud road, the rain still unrelenting and beating down on them.

Soon, they saw the wooden walls and gate to the village, the ground in front of it barren, with skeletons, corpses, and ashes of shades and demons littering the earth. There were several shambling skeletons clawing at the gates, and an archer was perched on the roof of a house, firing arrows, but the hits he did make, the skeleton simply shrugged off.

Nymeria drew the arrow that was currently knocked in her bow, aimed, and fired at the skeleton, its head shattering into hundreds of pieces.

The two other skeletons and a three shades that were clawing at the mauled wooden gate turned and looked at what had destroyed their comrade, their gaze locking on Nymeria. The skeletons hissed and the shades charged.

Nymeria already had another arrow drawn and fired, shooting one of the shades in the eye. The shade screamed, and the sound shook their bones as it melted into the ground, leaving a pile of ashes and Nymeria’s stalhrim-tipped arrow.

Lyanna’s hand glowed a soft green, and roots burst from the ground, trapping and crushing the skeletons. The only thing left as the roots retracted were small bits of broken bone and dust.

Lightning from Astrid’s staff arched through the air, filling the area with the smell of ozone. The lightning struck one shade, and arched off the other several times, injuring them, but not enough to kill them. Everyone else had their weapons drawn, but before they could kill the shades, Anders had frozen them both solid, Sernon and Vilkas using their greatswords to shatter them into pieces.

Lake Crestwood was very close to the village, and out on the lake, a rift could be seen, and it was quite a large one.

“Where do you think the water’s going? The Beyond?” Ferarrah asked.

“Can the Beyond fill with water?” Lyanna mused aloud.

They continued towards the village, where the beaten gate was opening and several armed civilians were cautiously stepping forward. Nymeria retrieved her two arrows, and was twirling one in between her gloved fingers.

“You can stand down, I’m Inquisitor Lavellan. We’re here to help you.” Lyanna proclaimed.

And older man with greying, balding hair made is way towards the party.

“I’m Gregory Dedrick, the mayor of Crestwood.” He took Lyanna’s gloved and marked hand and kissed her knuckles profusely, stunning the elf with his behavior. “Thank you so much Lady Inquisitor. You have saved us.”

Lyanna extracted her hand. “Er, well not quite. The rift is still on the lake. Do you perhaps have a boat we can use?”

The mayor seemed to come back to himself. “I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that, my lady. There are caverns beneath Old Crestwood, and that is where I fear the rift is coming from.”

“Is there any way to get to the caverns?” Nymeria questioned.

“They’re flooded. Have been since the Fifth Blight.”

“Wonderful.” Nymeria muttered.

“Is there a way to _unflood_ them?” Lyanna asked.

“Well, the dam can be opened, but the gatehouse can only be reached by way of Caer Bronach, which is home to these… monsters.” The mayor had a terrified look on his face when he mentioned the ‘monsters’.

“What sort of monsters?” Valasha questioned.

A villager spoke up. “They’re pale. Like death. An’ they’ve got these teeth. I saw ‘em take Benny. Ripped ‘im in half, they did. An’ they’re eyes glow the colour of blood.”

Valasha nodded. Vampires in the keep, then.

“We’ll take care of it, Mayor Dedrick.” Lyanna told him.  

 

* * *

 

Anders, Vilkas, and Sernon offered to stay behind and help keep the demons and skeletons behind, and a very disgruntled Ferarrah was made to stay as well.

Lyanna, Nymeria, Astrid, Valasha, and Brynjolf all made their way to Caer Bronach, thankful that the rain had stopped. Up ahead of them was the castle, where figures could be seen milling around on the ramparts.

They all hid behind boulders, Nymeria watching the castle. She ducked back down and whispered to them.

“My guess is that the vampires moved in after a group of bandits. The ones on the battlements are thralls. I can tell by the way they’re acting. We kill the ones that are dressed like highwaymen, as they are likely to turn on us when we kill their masters anyway. We can take the castle by ourselves if we’re quiet and smart.”

Lyanna thought for a minute. “I’m willing if you are.”

Nymeria gave her a half-cocked smile. “I’m always ready to kick some vampire ass.”

 

* * *

 

The master vampire at the top of the keep was a pain in Nymeria’s ass. She had ordered the rest of them to stay back and let her deal with it. Valasha, Astrid, and Lyanna were hurling offensive spells at the vampire, Brynjolf was lurking in the shadows, his blades drawn and waiting for an opening. This vampire was rather powerful, and clearly from Tamriel. Astrid got her first glimpse at the horror that is a vampire lord, and Lyanna got a much better look than the last time she had encountered one.

It swung its claws at Nymeria, who dodged it and sliced at the vampire. She needed to end this fight. She was exhausted, and the moon was rising.

Nymeria drew in a breath, and shouted.

“ _YOR TOOR SHUL!”_

A stream of white-hot fire erupted from Nymeria’s mouth, reducing the vampire to cinders before it could choke out a scream.

The dust settled as the after-battle silence lengthened.

 _She used the same magic from before, when I was in the future._ Lyanna thought.

Brynjolf gave Nymeria a small, proud smile, and Astrid looked beside herself.

“Alright. I’m going to bring it up.” Astrid’s voice broke the silence. “That’s at least twice that I’ve seen you do shit like that. What in the Void kind of magic is that?”

Nymeria stared at the human mage.

“It’s none of your business.” The elf then sheathed her twin swords, and turned from Astrid, who then grabbed her arm and spun Nymeria back around to face her.

“Oh no, we’re not doing that shit again. You have some explaining to do. Like how you can breathe fire, for Andraste’s sake. I’ve been around a bit, and I’ve never even heard of magic like that.”

“Magic is different on Tamriel. Just ask Valasha.”

“You should tell them, Stormcrown. It’s only a matter of time. You know that.” The Ayleid commented.

Nymeria glared daggers at the woman.

“I saw you fight in the future, you did these, impossible things, with your magic. They had you chained up, Nymeria. I want to know why.” Lyanna approached her.

A hand came to rest on Nymeria’s shoulder, Bryn’s hand.

The mer let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding.

“Sound your horn, Inquisitor. I’ll explain while we wait for your troops.”

Lyanna nodded, and made her way to the balcony, unclipping the horn from her belt and blowing it once. After hearing the responding horn back, Lyanna rejoined the rest of the party.

“Alright, out with it.” Astrid demanded.

* * *

 

Staves, swords, daggers, and a bow and quiver of arrows sat on a battered wooden table, Lyanna, Nymeria, Valasha, Astrid, and Brynjolf seated around it.

“It’s not magic, exactly, but more of a skill. There’s a certain magic to it, but not everyone can learn the Thu’um. There have only been a small handful of people like me throughout history, those that have the natural talent and abilities of the dragons.

“I’m what is called Dovahkiin, or Dragonborn. I’m a mortal, born with the soul of a dragon, so I have the abilities of a dragon, which is the natural ability to speak the dragon tongue.”

“So, you’re a dragon?” Astrid asked.

Nymeria gave her a puzzled expression.

“In a way, I am. Why?”

Astrid bounced in her seat. Can you turn into one? I met a scary swamp witch that could turn into a dragon. But she wouldn’t teach me how.”

“I cannot turn into an actual dragon, but I can assume the aspect of one.”

“So you can’t teach me?”

“No.”

“Damnit. That would have scared the shit out of Carver.”

“How do you be born with a dragon’s soul?” Lyanna questioned.

“Akatosh chooses them. Dragonborn have his direct blessing. It’s the highest honor anyone can hope to achieve.” Valasha answered.

Nymeria looked at Valasha. “Don’t tell me you’re-“

“A believer? I wore the armour of Pelinal Whitestrake, Stormcrown. I witnessed the power of an Avatar of Akatosh himself. I have been though the Deadlands, and seen the majesty that the Divines have created and protected for us. I am not only a firm believer, but devout as well.”

Nymeria looked to the Ayleid incredulously. “You’re an Ayleid! You have your own gods!”

“The Princes serve a purpose. But they do not do what the Divines do. Talos is, in all intents and purpose, your brother.”

“I’m not getting into this discussion. The gods have never done anything for me but throw more world-ending shit at me. So forgive me if I’m a bit of a cynic.”

Valasha gave her an understanding smile and nodded. “You are a daughter of Akatosh, Nymeria, but He is not the most attentive father. I can understand why you feel that way. I lost my faith for a while, after someone I cared about was taken from me, but I was blessed with something that made me keep living.”

Nymeria looked down at her lap.

Lyanna spoke. “You don’t have to hide something like this, Nymeria.”

“People treat me different when they know. In Skyrim, I’m a famed and prophesized hero. That’s a lot of pressure. Keep in mind I was also eighteen when I found out I was Dragonborn. I was terrified, in a strange new land with no money, no weapons, and no friends. I can’t be my own person when I’m Dragonborn. I have to be a morally upstanding and perfect person. I can’t make mistakes, and for the first few years, no one believed me when I said that I was Dragonborn. I’m a half-breed, and an elf. The Nords take offence to that, that their famed hero is what they hate most in the world, the spawn of an Altmer and a Bosmer.”

“I understand. I’m a Dalish mage, in charge of the Inquisition. Most of Thedas hates me.”

“Then we’ll have to show them that they’ve all been a bunch of pricks.” Astrid remarked. “I’ve had to defend my friend Merrill too many times. You’ll do great things for mages and elves, Lyanna. I know you will.” She clapped Lyanna on the shoulder and have her a wide grin.

“First, I think we should start by closing that rift in the lake.” Lyanna grinned back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always love feedback!  
> I'd also like to apologize for this being kinda late. I was on vacation, then I just got stuck on this chapter. Sorry guys.


	16. Freeing Crestwod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna and the gang save the village of Crestwood and make the region stable.

It was another hour before Inquisition soldiers had made their way to Caer Bronach.

A company of soldiers trudged up the muddy road to the keep. Lyanna and the others greeted them just inside the main gate.

“Lady Inquisitor.” The Captain of the company saluted the elf. “The wagons are on their way, my lady. The mud and rain has made travel difficult in this region.”

“I understand, Captain.”

The rain had thankfully stopped, so the trek back to the village was more bearable than the trek to the fort.

The sun was near setting, and by the time the party had made it back to Crestwood, the moon was overhead, though grey clouds still made the night dark. Nymeria, Valasha, and Brynjolf were on edge, expecting a stray vampire to try and enact vengeance on the slaughter of its comrades.

Fighting could be heard, even on the other side of the small village.

The few residents that could be considered guards opened the gates for them, revealing the rest of their friends still combating the demons and skeletons that still emerged now from the water-logged earth where the lake once was.

Once the last shade was dealt with, Vilkas, Sernon, Ferarrah, and Anders stopped for a breath, though it looked as if they had hardly broken a sweat.

“Asa’ma’lin.” Sernon greeted his sister. “The skeletons and spirits seem to take longer to get here since the lake was drained.”

“If we want to push it, we could try and close the Rift before sunrise.” Vilkas explained.

Lyanna contemplated for a short moment. “If everyone feels as if they could, then I say we should. This village has been threatened enough.”

“It shouldn’t take much strain with all of us together.” Nymeria remarked. “And besides, not sleeping has never been a problem for me.”

The rest sounded their agreement, though Astrid let out a loud groan and muttered something about “I don’t get this pretty running off three hours of sleep, no matter what Varric says.”

In agreement, they all began to make their way to the once-submerged village of Crestwood.

Lyanna summoned a few wisps to help light the way, Astrid and Anders small balls of fire, and Valasha and Nymeria summoned a few magelights.

With the glow, the village looked quite ominous.

Wraith-like spirits and wisps darted to and fro, hardly paying anyone but Lyanna a glance. Interestingly enough, when a spirit got too close to the elf, her mark would start glowing and sparking ever so little, as if it recognized the creature of the Fade that was drawing close to it.

The group came across a spirt, demanding that a rage demon that was near be destroyed, to which Lyanna agreed to do.

Even with the little light and the spirits roaming around, the village was eerie and woefully depressing.

“Old Crestwood was flooded one night during the Blight. There were probably a hundred refugees in the village, fleeing the Blight in the South. If I remember correctly, everyone but the Mayor died. Claimed that Darkspawn was the cause.” Anders explained. Bones crunched under their feet, even though they tried to avoid them, the piles were large and strewn about.

“How utterly convenient for the mayor.” Nymeria quipped 

“It does seem a little suspicious.” Brynjolf remarked.    

“We can ask the Mayor about it in the morning. We need to find the cave entrance.” Lyanna scanned the area, using her heightened elven vison to help her see into the darkness.

Valasha stopped at the foot of some slime and mud-covered steps. “Look here,” the Ayleid commented, “I’m willing to guess that that used to be the mayor’s house.”

The Ayleid climbed the steps to the rotting and soaked wood and stone house, the others trailing after her.

There wasn’t much left in the house, but a trunk did stand out.

Valasha expertly picked the lock on the front of the trunk, and opened it, revealing its mostly-intact contents.   

Sernon crouched next to Valasha, whom passed a damp but still legible journal.

Carefully opening it, Sernon flipped though it until he came to the last few entries, which were dated over ten years back. The elf’s eyebrows shot up at the words on the page.

“What is it?” Lyanna questioned.

“It seems that the whole town was sick, or getting sick before the darkspawn flooded the village.”

“Sick with what?” Brynjolf asked.

“The Blight,” Anders answered. “The only cure is to become a Warden, and even then they might not survive.”

Hawke swallowed a lump in her throat, though no one noticed but Anders.

“How do you know that?” Vilkas asked the blond mage.

“I was a Warden. There’s only one type of sickness during the Blight, and it’s that. With that many people infected, the Darkspawn would have flocked here, calling to them.”

“It’s still rather convenient that the mayor is the _only_ person to not die when the dam was sabotaged. In my experience, that is _never_ a coincidence.” Nymeria grumbled.

“I’ll keep the journal, and we can give it back to the mayor at least.” Valasha stated, before tucked the small book away in her pack.

“The villagers might want to try and burn the bones that are here as well. Give them a final rest.” Astrid commented.

“We should get moving. So we can be done with this.” Vilkas grumbled. The Nord gripped his greatsword and exited the ruins of the wooden house.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t difficult from there to find the entrance to the cave system beneath Old Crestwood. The wood was rotting, so when Lyanna tried to open the door, it literally fell off its hinges, and splinted apart.

Lyanna led the way though the darkness, her siblings not far behind her. The caves seemed to swallow all the light that shone off of the fires and magelights that danced about.

The decent through the cave was rather uneventful until they found the main shaft down. On the second level down, they ran into some demons and a few corpses, who were quickly dispatched.

Soon, the cave gave way to the structured and geometric shapes of the dwarves. The lava flows on each side of the long, crumbling hallways gave off rather ample light, and the mages extinguished their lights.   

“There’s Durgen’len down here?” Ferarrah questioned.

“Used to be, more like. This place is in ruins.” Valasha commented.

Anders turned to Hawke. “Love?”

“Hm?” The dark-haired mage replied.

“Why is it that _every time_ you drag me along somewhere, we always end up in the Deep Roads?”

Astrid but back a snort and rolled her eyes at the blond healer. Anders had been in remarkably good spirits lately, ever since they joined the Inquisition.

Brynjolf gave a small smile and glanced at the couple, before turning his gaze to Nym. She was walking next to him. He slid his hand into hers, and even still, a faint blush reached her ears. The light played with the angles of her face, reminding Brynjolf of their quiet conversations in bed late at night, or the two of them on the sofa in her study, Nym quietly reading or sketching by the light of the fire, her legs usually in his lap and him reading a book or going over the books for the guild.

Nymeria caught him staring, and bumped his shoulder, catching his gaze.

 _Pay attention_. Her eyes said.

The Nord rolled his eyes at her and gave her a light, playful bump on the shoulder back.

Soon, they came face to face with an enormous Rage demon, which was dispatched as well, but the creature and his lackeys were powerful, and left them all slightly winded and wishing for their beds.

“I can feel the rift. It’s large, and not far. Let’s go quickly, so we can rest.”

Down a few more crumbling dwarven passageways, they came to the rift, which was the biggest one they’d seen since the Rift responsible for the Breach.

Sernon and Ferarrah fell into their positions, protecting Lyanna so she could hurl her magic and disrupt the rift. Valasha and Vilkas went on the offensive, charging in with blades and magic while Brynjolf attacked from the large shadows, and Nymeria fired arrow after arrow into the fray, her aim true.

After the first wave of demons were dealt with, fatigue really started to set in. Nymeria was cautious about using her Thu’um in the large ruin, not wanting to upset the ancient stones. She used only her elemental breaths, and the occasional marked for death or dismay shout.

Just as Lyanna was about to close the rift, a terror demon swiped at the elf. She dodged it, but not before it managed to pierce her armor. Lyanna let out a gasp of pain and Ferarrah quite literally shredded the demon with an animal like yell.

Lyanna quickly closed the rift then, ending the battle.

Astrid was the closest to her, and rushed to the elf’s aid.

“I’m fine. It didn’t get me deep.” She protested.

Astrid raised her eyebrow, and set to work, quickly healing the jagged cuts. She’d need new armor now, but that was of little consequence.

Finished with the healing, they fanned out, collecting anything of value before heading for what could be an exit.

“We’re heading in deeper. Shouldn’t we backtrack?” Vilkas asked.

“I feel a breeze.” Lyanna proclaimed.

Anders spoke up as well. “We’re going closer to the surface. I’ve spent quite amount of time below the surface like this, and the air is different. We’re going the right way.”

After stumbling across a nest of nugs, they finally found a set of stairs and ladders that went back up to the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've started my first year at SCAD, and I am so excited and exhausted at the same time. I will by no means give this up, but college comes first. Thank you all you guys so, so much for the support.  
> Wish me luck! :)


	17. Moving Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition plans to move forward in their efforts to stop Thedas from falling into chaos.

“Now, now, back stick straight darling. I will put tomes on your head if you don’t keep straight.” Vivienne’s voice rang clear though the rotunda, which Solas was _not_ happy about.

The elf’s desk was pushed out of the way, letting the bulk of the floor be used for Leliana, Josephine, and Vivienne’s instructions on the ‘art’ of Orlesian dancing.

Farandare, strangely enough, picked up the steps quite quickly, along with Dorian. Azarath and most of the others, however, were struggling to say the least.

“I don’t understand why I must learn this. I’m not going to the Winter Palace to dance.” Cullen grumbled.

“You don’t want to even want to dance with a lady that catches your eye?” Leliana asked, with a wink and a knowing smirk. Cullen in turn blushed.

Solas, busy with painting his fresco and ignoring his intruders, paused in his painting, turning his head and ear towards the conversation.

The elf did not approve of Lyanna and Cullen’s relationship, such as it was. He heard idle gossip around the castle about how the Inquisitor and Commander were currently seeing each other, but had yet to see any true evidence for himself apart from the Commander’s actions after the events at Haven.

Against his wishes, Solas found himself becoming increasingly fond of Lyanna. She was open-minded, and more than willing to learn about what he had to say. Her elvish and understanding of the Fade had grown exponentially since their first meeting. He admired the control she had over the anchor, even when she should not. He also found her grasp of natural magic simply astonishing. Despite her young age, she showed power and control over her magic in a way that he had not encountered in many, many years.

Solas suspected Lyanna a dreamer, as well as Hawke. They were both powerful mages in their own right, and with Hawke so sensitive to the Fade, it only made sense.

The elf watched the inner circle struggle with the steps of a more complicated Orlesian dance, smirking to himself. When he had shown himself to be more than competent in all the steps of the most popular dances, from multiple countries even, he was allowed to work on his fresco as he pleased.

His eyes observed the Commander. Why would Lyanna choose a human? He had never spent time with Clan Lavellan, but understood that as a whole, they were much more liberal than some Dalish clans, but this union would never be accepted. How could it be? Cullen is a Templar, though he may claim not be part of the order, he still killed mages, imprisoned them, maybe even performed the Rite of Tranquility on them. 

Perhaps he needed to convince Lyanna that being with a Templar is a horrid idea before she gets her heart broken?

 _So she can come to you, her ghi’lan?_ _Could you lie with her while lying to her as you are?_

No, Solas decided he would let the relationship fall apart as he knew it would. He would linger to help her along, feed her the truth of how humans only take from the elves.

 

* * *

 

Several weeks passed, and every other day for a few hours, Cullen and the others invaded Solas’s rotunda to be prodded at by Leliana, Josephine, and Vivienne about their etiquette, dancing, and having them measured by tailors and experimented on with different fabrics for their formal wear. The ball and festivities were to last a week, and the all of the inner circle would need a week’s worth of the most in-fashion, and luxurious apparel the Inquisition could afford, which was becoming more and more with each passing day.

The tailors responsible for Cullen, Lyanna, Nymeria, Brynjolf, Vilkas, and Serana had exclaimed many times that crimson, gold and black were most definitely _his_ colors, and that he will be the envy of the Orlesian court. They also had to be outfitted for masks, though it was more of a formality of the Great Game than anything.

While Cullen’s masks were all the same for the week, (a mighty lion, the tailors insisted much to his displeasure) the colours changed depending on what attire he was to wear when. It was making his headaches worse when having to deal with the tailors.

Finally, after being prodded for several hours, and at his wit’s end, Cullen huffed back to his office, the door slamming behind him.

Among the piles of papers, letters, and reports that were waiting for him on his desk, one in particular stuck out to Cullen, a soft, flowing script he had come to recognize, never mind the stamp of the Inquisitor that was imbedded in the green wax.

He picked the letter up and broke the seal.

                _Cullen,_

_The Rifts in Crestwood have been closed, and we’ve gotten a lead on why the Grey Wardens are all disappearing. We met with an acquaintance of Hawke and Anders, a Warden named Stroud. I’ll give you the full details when we’re back at Skyhold. We’re leaving tomorrow, so this letter should reach you several days before I do._

_Dareth shiral_ ,

_Lyanna_

Lyanna was on her way back already? It both seemed forever and yet not. A week journey there and back, with a week at least to close Rifts and stabilize the region. It was good news, fantastic news, actually. For some reason whenever Lyanna was near him, his lyrium headaches became less painful. He also missed her presence greatly. They would often take their lunches in each other’s quarters, having light conversations and stealing a few moments of intimacy before they had to leave and become the Inquisitor and her Commander.

Cullen had begun to take his lunches with several other members of the inner circle, mostly Varric, The Iron Bull, Dorian, Sera, and Cassandra. It was good company, if it could be a bit loud. There at least, they all had a few things in common, the Inquisition, and Lyanna. It warmed Cullen’s heart to know that they cared for her as they do. She’s not just their leader, but their friend. He and Cassandra usually had their own quiet conversations, but they often listened to some of Varric’s tales, many of which Cassandra would call bullshit on.

The days were slow, full of paperwork and headaches for Cullen. They were worse the longer he went without lyrium. The nightmares had begun to plague him worse as well; they had also begun to disturb him. Now many of them centered around Lyanna, demons masquerading as her, or twisting her visage to hurt him or killing or hurting her in increasingly painful ways.

It was beginning to take its toll on Cullen as well. He had hardly slept well since Haven, and even before then, now it’s just worse. He often wakes up in a cold sweat, reaching for his sword that’s propped on the table next to his bed. It’s useless to go back to sleep most of the time, so he dresses and begins pouring over papers and reports at the wee hours of the morning.

This morning however, Cullen smiled. Lyanna was due back today, Leliana’s scouts had sent a bird yesterday reporting that they were a day out.

The sun had not yet reached over the Frostbacks, and Cullen was already up, dressed, and rifling through reports on his desk.

Soldiers came and went for several hours before he really noticed the passage of time. Already his eyes strained to read, his head pounding, making him nauseous and unable to eat his morning meal.

He asked for a few hours of silence from his subordinates, hoping it would help relieve his pounding head.

He heard the door that led to the rest of the castle open, the sound loud and pounding though his head.

“What did I say about-“ Cullen’s head snapped up, preparing to scold whatever scout hadn’t listened to his order when he was greeted with a freshly-cleaned Lyanna, who had frozen halfway in the doorway, hand still on the handle and fade-green eyes wide.

“Lyanna! Forgive me. I had no idea you had returned yet.”

“If I’m intruding-“

Cullen crossed the room in several quick steps. “No! Of course not. I just needed some peace for a time.” Cullen guided Lyanna into his office and shut the door.

"How was Crestwood? You said that you had some information on the Grey Wardens?” Cullen walked back over to his desk, Lyanna in the center of room, his back turned to her as he tried to make some order to his desk.

“We can discuss the Inquisition later.” He felt a small hand on his arm, turning him back around to face the tiny elf. She studied his face, taking in the deep circles under his eyes, the slight gauntness to his face. “Cullen, what’s wrong?”

Maker, she knew him so well and they had only known each other for a few months.

“It’s nothing.”

She wasn’t buying it.

Her eyes narrowed a fraction.

“I don’t want to worry you.”

“Consider me worried.”

Cullen sighed. “As Inquisitor, you should know anyway.” He paused a beat. “I am no longer taking lyrium.”

A moment of silence. “Can’t that kill you?” he had to strain to hear her question.

“It can, yes.”

Her expressive eyes widened and she clutched his coat. Fear for him written on her face as clearly as her tattoos.

“Cassandra’s watching me to see if I become unfit for duty-“

“Fenedhis! The Inquisition doesn’t matter now, _you_ do.”

Cullen was more than a little surprised by her outburst, deciding that that was an elvish swear.

“I need to do this, to be away from what happened in Kinloch, Kirkwall.”     

Lyanna nodded, understanding that he needed to move on. She had to do the same when she became the Herald of Andraste. Even then she knew she could never go back to her Clan, now it really was impossible.

“What are the side effects of withdrawal?”

“Headaches and nightmares are all that’s affected me thus far.”

Lyanna thought for a moment. “I’ll be back shortly. Go up to your quarters and take this” she tapped a knuckle on his breastplate “off.”

A look of confusion crossed Cullen’s face. “Why-“

Lyanna’s small hand came to rest on his cheek. “I want to help you. I can lessen your headaches.”

Cullen seemed to be warring with himself for a short moment before he nodded and took a step towards the ladder that lead to his quarters. Lyanna made her way out the door as Cullen began to climb the latter up, hearing heavy door close behind him.

In his quarters, he methodically began to take his coat and armour off, placing the pieces on his armour rack. He sat on his bed, staring at the floorboards when he finished. He refused mage healing ever since Kinloch, Maker, that was why he had the scar on his lip after Kirkwall. He was better with magic and mages; he knew now that not all of them were evil. Lyanna was anything but. Her mere existence proved that some mages are good. That didn’t stop his instincts though.

The door opening and shutting again brought him out of his thoughts. Cullen heard light feet climb the ladder, and soon enough, white hair and pointed ears popped up to where he could see them. Anxiety filled him. He didn’t want to burden her with his past. Lyanna had more than enough to worry about.

She approached him cautiously, setting her basket of supplies next to her as she kneeled on the floor between his knees.

“Are you alright?” she asked, concern laced in her voice.

Cullen gave her an unsure nod.

Lyanna, barefoot as always when around Skyhold, sat crossed legs at the head of his bed, motioning Cullen to place his head in her lap, which he did.

Red painted Cullen’s cheeks, despite them being past the more awkward part of their relationship.

Lyanna looked into his eyes, upside down, and smiled. “Take deep breaths, and breathe with me. Relax.” She murmured in a soothing voice. Cullen closed his eyes and relaxed, matching his breathing to hers.

His whole body went rigid as the first tendril of magic wove its way around his head, and he had to suppress his panic. When the magic actually crept into his mind, while actually relieving the throbbing pain, Cullen’s instincts kicked in.

Before he knew it, he had Lyanna pinned beneath him, a hand around her throat and her hands pinned above her head.

As Cullen came back to himself, he realized he was snarling, and that Lyanna looked so, so very terrified pinned beneath him.

“Maker!” Cullen scrambled off her and the bed, looking back and forth at his hands and Lyanna.

The tiny elf was curled in on herself on his bed, a hand at her throat, her eyes wide with terror. Cullen could feel another spell on her fingertips, this one, he was sure, was not of the healing sort.

“Lyanna, words cannot express how sorry I am.” Cullen approached her like a wounded animal.

She flinched as he neared, nearly falling off his bed in the process. Cullen stopped moving forward.

A very tense silence followed, and only broke after both parties had sufficiently calmed down.

Cullen sat on the very edge of the bed, his head hung as he sighed.

“I owe you an apology, and an explanation.” Lyanna tentatively sat beside him, though it was a fair distance.

“What happened to me cannot excuse what I just did.” He was quiet for a moment. “When I first joined the order, I was stationed in Ferelden’s Circle, Kinloch. During the Blight, it was taken over by abominations. The Templars- my _friends_ \- were slaughtered. I was tortured. They tried to break my mind, and I- how can you be the same person after that? Still, I wanted to serve. They sent me to Kirkwall. I trusted my Knight-Commander, and for what? Her fear of mages ended in madness. Kirkwall’s Circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets. I want nothing to do with that life anymore. That’s why I stopped taking Lyrium. And without it, the nightmares come back. I want to trust magic, trust your magic, but-“ he paused, then looked up into her Fade-green eyes. She had scooted closer, just touching shoulders. “If we had met a few years ago, I wouldn’t see you. I’d have seen a dangerous mage, not you.” He gently reached out and caressed her cheek. This time, she didn’t flinch. “It sickens me to think that.”

Lyanna took the hand near her face and laced their fingers together. “The reason Ferarrah hates humans and Templars so much is because of me.” Cullen’s brows furrowed. Lyanna didn’t look at him, she was concentrating on their hands in her lap.

“I was about five. My magic had shown up the year before. Mamae and I were gathering some herbs a fair distance from the clan, but these woods were safe and we had our staves. We were near Tantervale I think? But a group of Templars came across us. Mamae killed one or two before they really knew what happened, but they overpowered her. I remember one man had me by my hair, and had a knife to my throat. They told her they’d kill me if she didn’t do what they wanted. She stopped struggling, and they did what they wanted to her. I screamed and cried, praying to all the gods to help me, praying to even Fen’harel to come and drag them to the Void. They beat her, raped her, and then killed her, right in front of me. They must not have realized I had magic, because I was so young, but before they could turn the knife on me, I made the forest turn against them. That was how I discovered I had a natural gift, actually. The clan heard me screaming and found me few hours later, trying to get her to wake up. I learned and understand that some are just evil, and I’m always wary, but Ferarrah never forgave shemlen for that. I know I punished those men. And that it’s over. Hating humans won't bring her back.”

Cullen was mortified. Lyanna looked up to him, unshed tears in her eyes.

He embraced her, hoping that she understood how sorry he was, and how thankful that she didn’t group him in with those Templars that traumatized her.

They stayed in the embrace for a long while, just needing the silent support from one-another. When they did part, their foreheads rested together.        

They stayed like that for a long while, only needing the comfort of each other, not saying a word.

The small bit of magic Lyanna used wore off, however, and when the pounding in his skull hit him again, Cullen gripped her fingers slightly harder. Lyanna pulled away, concern in her face.

“Can I try something else?” She asked. Before Cullen could speak, she interrupted him. “I’m not going to use magic, at least, not on you personally. Not until you’re ready for that.”

“If you’re willing, I suppose it’s futile to tell you no?” He half joked. She gave him a small smile that told him that he knew that answer.

Cullen watched as she went to work preparing whatever it was she was going to use. It looked to be some sort of potion, but not one he was familiar with. He could feel her magic surge every now and then, working it into herb-laced liquid.

She worked meticulously, her full concentration on her task in front of her.

Soon, she had a pale green paste, and stood with the salve, declaring her work done. Cullen could feel the magic that was laced in the substance.

“What is that?” he asked. While he still had some anxiety, he was genuinely curious about it. He had seen salves of course, but this was so very different than anything he had seen herbalists and other mages prepare.

“It’s a Dalish secret. It blocks pain and help with healing. It’s like a healing spell without directly using magic, though magic is vital in it’s creation.”

“The Dalish know so much more than the Templars think you do.”

A quiet sadness passed her featured for a second. “We do that on purpose.” She paused. “Now, take off your tunic, please.”

Cullen blinked owlishly at her, not sure he heard her right.

Lyanna giggled at his expression. “I need to apply this to your spine and back of your neck.”

Cullen’s ears were red. “If my lady commands.” He pulled his tunic over his head, setting the garment next to him on the bed.

“Mythal ma halani.” Lyanna muttered a little too loud.

Cullen smirked at her, not knowing what she said, but could take a few guesses if the expression on her face and the red that was colouring her cheeks and ears had anything to say.

“Lyanna?” Cullen’s voice snapped her out of her staring. She realized she _was_ in fact, staring, and her blush deepened.

The elf cleared her throat. “Right. Uh, can you lay down on your stomach?” He did as he was asked. Lyanna too climbed on the bed, straddling his waist.

 _Elgar’nan his shoulders._ Lyanna saw faint scars crisscross his back in fading, silvery lines, and a few newer looking ones as well, but it was muscles in his broad shoulders that impressed her.

She had to focus. Cullen needed her to help him, not ogle him.

She dipped her fingers in the paste, and began to rub it into his skin, starting at the small of his back and working up. His muscles jumped a little when she touched him; the salve was actually rather cold and seemed to almost chill the spine when applied.

Cullen let himself relax, letting the salve do its job and relieve his headache. He didn’t even realize he began to doze when he felt her weight move from his hips.

His spine was tingling with magic, his headache gone, as well as any other ache and pain he had from before.

Cullen was loathed to move, but he did so anyway, and stood up from his bed.

Lyanna was face to very large and naked chest when he stood. Mythal, she could feel the heat radiating off him.

Her cheeks flushed, and she felt her ears grow hot.

Cullen looked down at her. Gone was his nervousness for the time, but hers had returned. She seemed to be very interested in his chest, as she had yet to look up at him.

“Enjoying the view, my lady?” he asked quietly, a mischievous smirk pulling at his lips.

Her eyes snapped to his, the bright green almost glowing.

He loved seeing her blush. I was endearing. Cullen snaked an arm around her waist, resting at her lower back, his other cradling her cheek.

Lyanna didn’t know what to do, think, or even say. Cullen was looking at her in a way she had never been looked at before. He seemed utterly content, but almost conflicted. She stayed still, her hands resting on his toned and warm chest.

Cullen drew her in slowly, and kissing her the same.

Their lips danced together, neither in a hurry, neither wanting to pull away. Cullen gently bit her lower lip and Lyanna let out a small whimper. Cullen’s mood seemed to change. His kisses then became deeper, more demanding. Lyanna was putty in his arms, her knees almost too weak to support her. He seemed to sense this, because he picked her up and laid her on his bed. He was half laying on top of her, holding her close to him. Lyanna responded eagerly, clutching his shoulders. When one of Cullen’s hands found her waist, his fingers slid under the hem of her tunic, finding the soft flesh of her waist.

That seemed to bring Lyanna back to the present, and she gently broke the kiss, both of their breaths shallow. Cullen looked at her in confusion.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, his voice deeper than normal. His pupils were blown wide, the golden brown nearly swallowed by black.

“Everything’s fine, it’s just I’ve never...”

Cullen’s eyes widened a fraction. “Maker’s breath I’m an idiot.” He muttered, rolling off her and staring at the ceiling, his hands covering his face.

Lyanna propped herself up on an elbow and gently pulled Cullen’s hands from his face.

“Cullen, it’s alright. You couldn’t have known.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“Look at me.”

Cullen sat up slightly and did as she requested. _She is so beautiful_. He thought. Her skin was flushed, hair mussed, lips swollen, and slightly breathless.

“I just don’t want this to go fast. I want to take our time. We are still so new together.” She explained.

“I understand. I don’t want to push you into anything.”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Are you feeling better though?”

“Yes, very much so. I don’t know how the Dalish do it, but my head no longer hurts.”

A smile graced her lips. I’m glad. Now, I should get back to my quarters and make myself a little more presentable, before Josie scolds me to put on shoes. I’ll see you at the council meeting in an hour or so.”

Cullen was sad to see her leave, as quiet moments together were a very rare thing for them. “Very well,” he rose from the bed, offering her a hand, “I shall see you in an hour then.”

He helped her from the bed, kissing her knuckles and retrieved his shirt.

Lyanna took her things, and descended the ladder, her destination her quarters.  

 

* * *

 

Nymeria was very glad to be back in her quarters. She was used to traveling alone, or with only one other person, not the loud and slow mob that was her current companions.

They insisted on setting up camp before it got dark, and insisted on stopping, _every night_.

She dropped her pack inside the door and sighed. She’d deal with it later.

Brynjolf came in a few minutes later, dropping his pack next to hers. “I requested some hot water be brought up for a bath.”

“This is why I love you.” She kissed his cheek. His stubble had grown out quite a bit. It was always hard to shave when they were out on the road.

“Talos’ mercy, I thought we’d never get back.” Nymeria tossed her weapons on the bed, and flopped down next to them.

She heard Brynjolf taking off his armour, and store it in the chest at the end of the bed.

A servant came in with water and left. She heard Brynjolf get in the tub.

“Are you going to join me or not, lass?” She could hear the smirk in his voice.

Wordlessly, she stripped of her armour and clothes, and padded over the cold stone floor to the tub.

She climbed in, resting her back against Brynjolf’s. They sat in a relaxing silence for a time.

“Glad to be home lass?” Brynjolf broke the silence.

“This isn’t home.”

“It’s as close as we have right now.”

She stayed silent.

“Are you alright?”

Silence.

“Nym?”

She sighed. “As well as I can be. These people are learning more about me than I know about them at this point, and I don’t like it. My life is private, and it’s being drug into the light.”

“I know it’s hard. I don’t like it either. But you can change that.”

“How?”

“Try talking with them, one on one. Make actual friends with them. I know you know how. You have Serana, the Companions, the Guild. Not to mention the few others that you’ve taken on your journeys, and-“

“I have basic social skills Bryn, it’s just hard for me to make friends. Good ones. Serana and a very few others are all I’d actually trust my life with.”

“Just, please try? We’re going to need as much help as we can to put those bastards back into the ground.

“I’ll try as best I can.”

Brynjolf kissed her hair.

“Thank you lass.”

 

* * *

 

“We met with Sir Stroud, and he believes he has a lead on what exactly is going on with the Grey Wardens. He says that Wardens from all across the Southern half of Thedas is hearing something called the Calling.”

Several eyes looked to Blackwall and Anders.

“I’ve been hearing, yes. I know it’s not yet my time, so I’ve been ignoring it best I can.” Anders explained.

“Ah, yes. The same goes for me. I’ve been ignoring it as well.” Blackwall added.

Anders narrowed his eyes at the other Warden.

“If that is the case, I have a few friends that may be able to give us some more insight to what is going on. I’ll send a raven at once.” Leliana said.

“Stroud said he had a lead out in the Western Approach. We should gather resources and see about meeting him out there, as much as I hate to admit it.”

“What’s so bad about the Western Approach?” Serana asked.

Astrid shuttered. “It’s desert, and I _loathe_ sand. It’s quite possibly the worst thing the Maker has ever created. And it’s a good month’s hike from here, I’d wager.”

”We’d have to commit to going out there for several months at least, it’s the only justification to hike that far.” Nymeria commented.

“Absolute not! I understand the possible urgentness of the situation, but the Inquisition is expected at Halamshiral in less than five months. It will take several weeks to journey there, and the _entire_ Inner Circle is expected to be in attendance. Rumors of our dear friends from Tameriel here have begun to reach even the farther corners of this half of Thedas. Lessons must be taught, dresses and suits tailored-“

“Lady Montilyet, the Inquisition needs to investigate this matter before it grows out of hand, we can’t simply sit here and wait for this _ball_.” Cullen interrupted.

“Perhaps we can stabilize Orlais on the battlefield while we wait? The Emerald Graves and the Exalted Plains are in a state of chaos. Civil war has ravaged those lands, and will have to be dealt with soon enough as it is. The court will see our aid as our seriousness in helping the country as a whole, and not to just put someone we have in our pocket on the throne.” Leliana offered.

Cullen and Josephine nodded in agreeance.

“So it seems that we are going to Orlais then.” Lyanna said.

“There is a man by the name of Fairbanks that has requested to speak with you, Inquisitor. Perhaps it would be best to begin there.” Leliana said.

“Send scouts to establish a base camp. We’ll rest here for a few weeks before heading out. There will be a meeting the day before we leave, and anyone wishing to join me is welcome to attend. Dismissed.”

There were a few soft conversations as people filed out of the massive war room, mostly talk of going to Herald’s Rest for drinks.

Nymeria, however, hung back, scanning the map that adorned the war table. Lyanna saw this and stayed behind as well.

“Troubled?”

“You’d be surprised how often I’ve actually done something like this, the maps are just wrong.”

“It must give you an advantage, at least.” Lyanna’s voice was filled with all the emotions Nymeria hated directed towards her, sympathy, empathy, sadness.”

“It’s not. Trust me. And Talos help me, but after this mess is over, I’m going to have to do it again.”

“What do you mean?” Lyanna’s eyes were very expressive, Nymeria noticed. She could never do the things she had done. Her eyes gave away too much about what the elf was thinking.

“The Dominion are practically waging war against my home. Taking people, torturing them, killing them. I’ve been gone a long time. Tullius and Ulfric might be back at each other’s throats again, and I’ll have to make good on my promise to the bastard that breaks my truce.”

“Elgar’nan, why?”

Nymeria gave the younger woman a tired smile. “It’s a long, long story.”     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for sticking with me and this fic. It really means so much to me.
> 
> Have an extra long chapter for me being away so long!


	18. Hero,You Have a New Questcard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at another far-off land, who seems to be having problems of its own.

“Lord Reaver is here to see you, your majesty.”

The monarch sighed and sat straighter at her desk.

“Let him in, please Jasper.”

The old man bowed and ushered him in.

“My, my, majesty, you get positively more radiant every time I see you.” Reaver purred.

Veronica raised a manicured eyebrow at the man.

“Make it quick, I have actual important things to do.”

“Such harsh words from such a goodie-two shoes of a monarch.” Reaver tsked and seated himself in one of the plush chairs that sat in front of the ancient desk.

“I’m only harsh with you, Reaver. So get to the point.”

Reaver’s eyes roamed over her figure. Veronica had held court a few hours before, and had not changed clothes, so she was still clad in a metal corset, pauldrons, and layers and layers of brocade and velvet. His eyes lingered on the crown that sat on the desk next to her; such an action did not escape the queen’s notice.

“The Wraithmarsh.”

“What of it?” she huffed, putting her quill down.

“It is currently being over-run with all manner of foul creatures.”

“And in other, more shocking news, Aurora is a desert.”

His jaw tightened for a second before he regained his composure.

“It is being over-run with creatures I’ve never seen before. There has also been an abundance of hollow men that should not be there.”

“What are you even doing out in the Wraithmarsh?”

“Personal business.”

“Mmmmhm.”

“Such poor etiquette, my dear.”

“You’re wasting my time, Reaver. The Wraithmarsh can deal with itself.”

“And what if it can’t? What if the beasts roam outside the marsh? What of Bloodstone? It is a town in your kingdom.”

She scoffed. “Such as it is. It’s full of whores, pirates, and vagabonds.”

“And what about that quaint little farming village on the edge of the marsh? Near Brightwood?”

Veronica didn’t think twice about helping them.

“We leave in the morning. So go pack your things, and pack light.”

Reaver was surprised, but quickly regained his bearings.

“We?”

“Ben needs to be here for the country and for Robb. I’ll take a few soldiers, but you’ve been to the marsh. Also having a Hero of Skill at your back, even if it is you, will always be worth more than a few dozen soldiers.”

“You put much faith in me, majesty.”

“This isn’t by choice, Reaver. If it was my choice, I’d have you locked up in a dungeon, but you’re useful to the economy and to the country.”

“So when I out live my usefulness?” his eyes flashed dangerously.

“I’m not an idiot. You will always outlive everything. You outlived my mother, and she let you stick around. She must have had a reason for that.”

“Your mother could see the charm and strikingly handsome looks I possess and wouldn’t destroy it. She was an intelligent woman in that regard.”

Veronica rolled her eyes.

A knock sounded on her door.

“Come in.”

Jasper poked his head in the door. “Your two o’clock appointment is here, your majesty.”

Veronica rubbed at her temple. “Send her in.” she looked to Reaver. “If you’re late, I’ll burn all your clothes. Now leave.”

The tall man picked up his hat and cane, bowing as he swaggered out of the room.

Veronica sighed.

_Of course this would happen._

 

* * *

 

“You’re going to the Wraithmarsh with _Reaver_?! Love, _honestly,_ how can you trust that man enough to go to the worst bloody place that exists in the known world?!”

“Keep your voice down Ben!” Veronica hissed at her husband. “Robb just got to sleep and I need to pack still.”

“Sodding hell, Ver. You’ve got to be mad. He’s after the crown, or _something_. I don’t get why you even let him strut around like he does. He’s the one that concocted all those horrid policies Logan forced on Albion.”

“I let him strut around because he’s useful. He was one of mother’s friends. If she trusted him, then I do, to a certain extent. He needs my help, or he would have just paid some mercenary band to do it, or take care of the problem himself.”

“Or he’s trying to send you to your death!”

“Ben. You’re here, Robb is here, hell, even Logan is here. He couldn’t just get rid of the royal family. You might not be near as old as he is, but you’re a Hero too, Ben. I have faith in you, as well as the people. They’d rip Reaver to shreds if he ever even attempted to hurt us, minus my brother.”

Ben seemed to calm down at her words. “Right, right, I know. I just don’t want anything to happen to you. I know that Robb and I have to share you with the rest of the country, but we couldn’t imagine life without you.”

“Don’t get sappy on me, Finn.” Veronica laughed.

Ben stole a kiss from her. “It doesn’t happen often, take it where you can.”

 

* * *

 

On horseback, it took Reaver and Veronica a little over a week to reach Brightwood. The small farming community celebrated their monarch, insisting they throw a feast in her honour.

After spending a day resting in Brightwood, they left their horses in the care of the communities’ mayor, taking the half-day’s journey on foot to the edge of the marsh.

As the two heroes came to the edge of Wraithmarsh, Veronica felt a chill race down her spine.

“My mother told Logan and I what the Wraithmarsh was like when we were old enough. I had always said I never wanted to come here. Now look at me.” She felt like her mother in that moment, however. In her favoured traveling clothes, and scuffed boots.  

Reaver, surprisingly, kept silent. He seemed to stare past the line of trees, deep into the marsh.

“So, what sort of beasts should we expect?” her question shook him out of his trance, and back to his normal, obnoxious self.

“The usual, banshees, hollow men, a few balverines. The others, however, are more difficult to describe.”

Veronica crossed her arms and waited patiently.

“I encountered many of these green, wisp-like creatures. A well-placed bullet, and they dissipate, but they’re still bothersome. There’s also these banshee-like figures that use some sort of ice magic. It screeches horribly and caught me off guard, but it ended up much worse than I did. I also noticed there are too many hollow men than should be present. Far more.”

Veronica unholstered her pistol and checked that it was fully loaded. “Wonderful.”

Reaver took out his Dragonstomper and readied it.

“Shall I lead the way, majesty?”

“That’s why you’re here.”

 

* * *

 

The sun disappeared in the marsh. It made the dense fog cold and seep into their bones. The air was heavy, both with moisture and a deep sense of unnaturalness.

Sinister magic pressed in and lingered in the air, making Veronica shiver. She had felt this way before, twice. Once in Shadelight, and once when the Crawler attacked Bowerstone and she was forced to kill Walter to end the monster.

A few dozen hollow men attacked them, but were quickly put back to rest with a few sliced of Veronica’s sword and Reaver’s rapier. They both decided that gunfire would attract unwanted creatures, and to conserve ammo should they run into something far more sinister.

“What exactly are we looking for?” her voice seemed far too loud in the mostly silent marsh.

“When I was last here, I found a green, floating, glowing mass. I am no Will user, hence, my fetching you.”

“I’m not to be fetched, Reaver. I’m your Queen.”

“Your mother said something of the like to me once. I still find it amusing.” He turned to her. “Before you go and alert everything to where we are, it’s just up this way.” He gestured ahead of them, towards what looked like the edge of a town.

“This must be the cullis gate mother used.” Veronica said quietly. If Reaver heard her, he never responded.

They came to what looked to be a sign, once.

“I’d bet my crown that this was Oakvale.” She muttered.

Reaver stood rigid. “You seem to know your history, majesty.” His voice sounded almost automatic, like he didn’t really know or care what he was saying.

She heard a loud crash, and caught a glimpse of bright green near what looked to be the center of what used to be Oakvale.

A great crash rung through the marsh, and the air was charged with magic that made Veronica’s hair stand on end. Her Will seemed to be drawn to it, sucking away at her.

“What is this?” she asked.

Reaver actually looked worried. “I regret to say I have no idea. This was never here before.”

The light crystalized and pulsed, making the two Heroes jump. Several green wisps appeared, but the Heroes could barely acknowledge them before a huge monster spawned from the crystalline light, with a force that knocked them both into the shin-high water.

It roared and swiped a claw at the two, who quickly rolled away and jumped back up, now thoroughly soaked, cold, and muddy.

Reaver and Veronica drew their pistols and quickly emptied them into the creature. It seemed unaffected, though it began to bleed dark black blood from the small bullet holes that it now sported.

It roared again, and threw a massive ball of lightning at them.

Reaver dodged it in time, Veronica just barely.

It tried to grab Reaver, and the Hero wasn’t fast enough.

Claws rent cloth and flesh, and Reaver screamed in agony.

Veronica charged a powerful fire and blades spell, her skin glowing and feathers flying, and hurled it at the beast.

She sprinted to her fallen comrade, grabbing his hand, and using her Will teleport them to Sanctuary.

Instead of the tiled, black, and white checkered floor, they landed on soft, green grass.

“Reaver?” Veronica looked at his wounds. They were already rapidly healing, but he was cut deep, and already lost too much blood.

He coughed up blood and groaned.

“Take this, quickly.” She uncorked a vial of a small bottle of a thick, red, liquid.

He drank it down without a fuss.

“You’ll be fine. Just lay still and try to breathe even.” Her voice was even, calm, though she was anything but. If they weren’t in Sanctuary, they weren’t out of danger.

“What-“ he gasped “what was that vile substance?”

“It was a hero potion. It will help you heal faster. Hush and do as I said.”

“Lady Green! We’ve got someone hurt over here!” a voice rang through the enormous, lush trees.

Veronica drew her sword.

A large group of people came down a small ridge, seemingly led by a small woman with white hair and tattoos on her face.

“Are you injured? Do you need help?” the woman asked. Her accent was strange, as was the man that beckoned the group to the Heroes.

Veronica looked at Reaver’s wounds.

“He’ll be fine. He’s healing like he should.”

The woman’s bright green eyes widened as she observed the wounds that marred Reaver’s abdomen.

“Sylaise, what happened?”

“We were in Wraithmarsh, when we were attacked by this, _thing._ ”

“Nymeria? Can you go back to the camp and get a stretcher? We need to get him out of the open like this.”

A woman with caramel skin and dark hair nodded and took off at a sprint.

Reaver spoke, this time with a stronger tone. “Avo, if this scars I swear I’m going to shoot a hundred of the first peasants I see.”

Veronica narrowed her eyes. “If you like to keep breathing you’ll not harm a single one of my citizens.”

The queen noticed the white-haired woman was staring at her closely.

“Are you her? Um,” she searched for the name, “Veronica, right?”

“I am, yes.”

“Maker, she is. I was beginning to wonder when, or if she was real or if she was going to appear.” A darker skinned man with a curling mustache remarked.

“Did we miss something?” Another woman, who looked very like the white-haired woman, questioned.

“When Dorian and I were cast forward in time, she was in Redcliffe Castle.” She paused, “I’m Inquisitor Lyanna Lavellan.”

Veronica looked at Lyanna skeptically. “Veronica Finn, Queen of Albion.”

They had to wait but a moment before armed scouts and the woman from before came running through the trees carrying a stretcher. The two scouts attempted to pull Reaver onto the stretcher, but the Hero stuck a dagger to one of the scout’s abdomens.

“No peasant had the right to touch me.” He hissed.

The sound of a slap rang through the forest. Reaver immediately gripped his cheek, and glared at Veronica.

“Avo help me, you will get off your bloody high horse! I’ll leave you here to die.”

His eyes narrowed. “You can’t. And you know it. Your mother couldn’t.”

“I’m not arguing with you Reaver. I’m your Queen and if you threaten or raise a hand to these people, you’ll find yourself in a very cramped cell in Ravenscar. I promise.”

The air was tense, but Reaver seemed to submit. The scouts gently placed him on the stretcher, and they all traveled back to the camp.

 

* * *

 

Reaver’s wounds were mostly healed by the time they made it to the camp. Veronica was wary and confused, but she didn’t let it show.

“Anders and Hawke can see to your friend. Make sure he heals properly. I’m sure you have questions. We can speak in my tent if you’d like.”

“Is it possible to get a change of clothes?” she gestured to her still soaked-though clothes.

“Yes! Of course. Follow me.” Lyanna walked over to a woman in armor standing by a table. “See to it my friend here gets a new set of clothes and that hers are washed and dried.”

“Yes, lady Inquisitor. Right away.”

Lyanna left Veronica to the officer, heading back to her tent. Soon enough, Veronica found her way to Lyanna’s tent, dressed in a basic Inquisition uniform.

Lyanna was seated on some pillows on the ground, sketching out the forest and the ruins she had seen.

“Please! Sit down. I’m sure you have lots of questions.”

Veronica sat. “Yes. I do. Where am I? I should have been teleported to Sanctuary, not a forest.”

“I don’t know how you got here. Nymeria got here by mistake as well. As to where you are, this is the Emerald Graves, in Orlais. This is Thedas, the continent we’re on.”

Veronica took a deep breath. “I’d like to say that stranger things have happened to me, but I don’t actually know much about magic, and the forces of Will. It’s a rare talent these days, and I only know what Teresa has taught me, and what my mother told me before she died.” The queen paused, “How is it that you know me?”

“I was cast forward in time two years. While there, Dorian and I saw what was to come. You were there, though not as you are now.”

“As I am now?”

“You had eyes like fire, and your shadow, Mythal I’ll never forget it.”

“Eyes like fire? Was the shadow demonic? Did I look demonic?”

Lyanna nodded. “If I didn’t know better, I would have thought you a desire demon.”

Veronica’s expression turned grim. “Heroes can’t just change their morality. It goes against who we are as a person. My mother told me that once, when she talked about Reaver. Are you absolutely certain it _was me_?”

“Nymeria went looking for you when we freed her from her cell. She said that she had made a promise to you, to free you. Apparently that meant you dying. She killed you and you seemed to go back to looking like you do now. So it wasn’t a demon or something masquerading as you.”

“Then it couldn’t have been Milton, or someone that had recreated the machine….” Veronica trailed off. “Is it possible for Heroes to be corrupted? I see how it could be possible, but it would have to have an outside source. Something that would force the Hero to go against their very nature.”

“I’m no Hero. I don’t know anything about where you’re from, just that it’s not here, and that it’s very different.”

“I’ll have to do some investigation of my own. Whatever happed to me in that alternate future, it cannot happen in this very real future.”

“I’ll send a raven to Leliana, telling her to keep an eye out for anything that could be information on it. The Inquisition has more than enough resources to do so.” Lyanna reassured her.

“I fear I cannot stay.”

“What do you mean? Are you not stuck here like the others?”

“I have to find a way back to Albion, and quickly. The country would be in an uproar should I go missing, and missing with Reaver. I have a husband, a son, a brother, a _kingdom_. I cannot assist you and leave my country abandoned. And I don’t even know what your inquisition is fighting against.”

“We are fighting to stop madmen from destroying Thedas, because if the succeed here, they’re turn to Tameriel, and more than likely your home as well.”

“I will not allow Albion to come under threat again.”

“The Inquisition needs all the help it can get. Your help would be invaluable.”

Veronica shook her head. “I still need to get to Albion. I cannot abandon my family and kingdom. They need to at least be aware of where I am.”

“Do you have any ideas of how to get there?”

Veronica thought for a second. “Perhaps..There was an odd distortion of magic in Wraithmarsh. It must have been the cause of Reaver and I ending up here and not the Sanctuary.”

This peaked Lyanna’s interest. “Distortion? Can you explain?”

“It was raw magic. And green, with creatures coming out of it.”

“A rift? There’s a rift in, Albion, was it?”

“Yes, and what is that? Reaver and I fought creatures we’ve never seen before.”

“They’re small tears in the Fade, and demons come out of them.” She showed Veronica her left hand, which sparked green and pulsed, “I’m the only one that can close them with this, called the Anchor.”

“I’m far from an expert on magical theory, but that might be a link to your world. The magic here must have overridden the magic on my hero seal.” Veronica pondered for a few moments. “Would you be willing to try something somewhat reckless and perhaps a little dangerous?”

Lyanna looked at the other woman skeptically. “I have responsibilities to the Inquisition, but I’ve had to be reckless before to get results.” The elf nodded, deciding, “Yes, I’ll trust you. I’ll take any idea.”

Veronica smiled. “Your faith is in good hands. Let’s just hope this goes as intended.”

The Hero queen gripped Lyanna’s shoulder and Willed herself to her sanctuary.   

 

* * *

 

Veronica was greeted with a very welcome sight, the interior of the sanctuary.

Lyanna, on the other hand, was very disoriented.

“Elgar’nan!”

“I’ll admit, the first few times are mildly disorienting, but it will pass in a few minutes. I’ll be but a moment, if you’ll excuse me. Just please, don’t touch the map.”

Lyanna looked around. It was very different than what she was used to. Everything seemed overly opulent, not unlike the Orlesians.

The map was interesting, but Lyanna did not touch it. She could feel some sort of magic coming from it, and her mark began to glow, as if a rift was near. A small green rift appeared in a dark area of the map, _Wraithmarsh_ written in curved script near it.

“A rift? Here? Is that even possible?” she muttered.

It indeed took Veronica mere moments to come back to the central room. She was no longer dressed in the Inquisition uniform, but a loose off-white blouse, cinched at the waist with a brown leather underbust, trousers, and worn brown knee-high boots.

“We need to get to the Castle.” Veronica grabbed Lyanna’s shoulder, and teleported them to the front plaza.

The guards seemed surprised at first, but then stood to attention as they recognized their queen.

“Your majesty!” They saluted, and stared quizzically at Lyanna.

Veronica led the elf into the foyer, up some stairs and into her private apartments.

“Ben?” she called.

A tall, blond human emerged from what looked to be a study.

“Ver? You’re back already? What happened?” he spotted the small elf next to his wife, “Who’s this? What is she?”

“Benjamin! You’re not in the army anymore you can’t just ask questions like that!” she hissed “It’s become increasingly complicated, however. Where’s Logan?”

“His room like usual. Robb’s with him. I told him to go bother his uncle instead of his nanny. Ver, what’s _going on_?”

“I’ll explain in my office. Can you go fetch Hobson and Jasper dear? I’ll go collect Logan and see Robb.”

The blond nodded, brow furrowed and rushed off deeper into the castle.

Veronica caught the attention of a passing maid. “Please take Lady Lyanna to my study. I’ll be there shortly.” The maid curtsied and led Lyanna away.

The halls were wide and bright, with tall windows and marble floors and longs plush carpets, very much unlike the hard stone walls of Skyhold. While repairs were still underway, this castle had a much different feel to it. After a few turns, and up a few flights of stairs, Lyanna was escorted into a room lined with shelves on three sides, with the back wall a floor to very tall ceiling stain glass window looking out over the gardens. The maid shut the door behind the elf, leaving her alone in Veronica’s office.

Lyanna observed the room. The bookshelves were all filled, ladders attached to the shelves to get to the books twenty feet in the air. The desk in the center was large and ancient, two large plush chairs sitting in front of the desk, and a larger, high backed monster sat behind. The stained glass was elaborate, but tasteful. It showed a tower-like structure looming in the back, a strange hourglass symbol in the center, and various other seemingly meaningful subjects. The elf spied a basket near a fireplace, filled with blankets and pillows, for an animal, she guessed.

It was but a few moments before a Veronica and another man entered her study, a hound chasing after the Hero’s heels.

The man had dark hair, a goatee, and a stern, almost angry expression on his face. He held himself much like Cullen did when he was in front of the army, but there was a way this man held himself that proved he was something more than a military man, royalty more like.

Veronica closed the door and looked to Lyanna.

“This is my brother Logan. Logan, this is Inquisitor Lyanna.” The queen introduced them.

Lyanna gave a polite nod, as Josephine taught her, Logan on the other hand, regarded the elf carefully, before giving her a slight, but polite bow.

Before Veronica could say anything else, the door opened and the man from before, Ben, entered accompanied by two older men, one short and fat, the other tall and thin. Veronica smiled in greeting at the newcomers.

“Right, down to business because I fear I don’t have much time. This is, well, she can introduce herself and explain the situation better than I can.”

Lyanna cleared her throat, “Um, yes. I’m Inquisitor Lyanna Lavellan. I lead the Inquisition in Thedas, a land that is, not here. The entire situation is very complicated, and I’m afraid I’m not much of a storyteller like Varric. But, there’s some very bad people trying to destroy Thedas, and if they succeed there, they’re turn to Tamriel, another land, and then here. Veronica has agreed to help but she said she couldn’t just disappear so she figured out a way to get back here, after landing in Thedas by accident.”

Ben’s brows furrowed. “How do you accidently land somewhere?”

“Reaver and I, as you know, were out in Wraithmarsh investigating the surge in nasties that inhabit it. It was a magical disturbance of some sort called,”

Veronica looked to Lyanna, “Rift.” The elf supplied

“Right, rift, and we were overwhelmed by this enormous creature. Reaver nearly died, and as I tried to Will us back to Sanctuary, the magic from the rift brought us to Thedas, where Lyanna and her Inquisition stumbled upon us and aided us. By sheer luck and wishful thinking I concocted a way back here.”

“Other lands? You realise how mad this sounds right?” Ben remarked.

“Madder things have happened. The late queen regaled me with tales that made me wonder about many things.” Jasper, the tall older man remarked.

“The Tattered Spire for one.” Logan muttered.

“Exactly. Besides, there’s proof in this room,” Veronica gestured to Lyanna, “She’s not human, and she has magic that doesn’t abide by the laws we know of.”

“But Majesty, if I might interrupt, why did you gather all of us here?” the short and squat man, Hobson, questioned.

“Right, as Lyanna said before, I’m not here to stay. Reaver is still recovering and I can’t sit idle while these people fight to keep the world safe, even if isn’t our world. It _could_ become our problem if not held in check.”

Hobson sputtered “But your majesty the cost of you being away from Albion for a long period of time could be detrimental to the kingdom! Who will take your place?”

“Ben and Logan can be in charge in between my visits.”

The man’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “With all due respect majesty, but the Prince-consort and the previous King are hardly qualified or even fit to maintain the kingdom!”

Veronica’s face became a hard mask. “I am the Queen of Albion. My husband and brother will act in my stead. Tell the people it is my decree, that I have not led them astray before. I’m going off to fight a war to keep them safe, _as I have done before_. I will hear no more arguments on the subject.”

“Y-yes your majesty.” The man bowed deeply.

“Now, I would like to bring a small squadron of the best soldiers in the army with me, ones highly skilled in the sword, as I fear guns and the like have not made its way to Thedas yet.”

“I have the men in mind, if you’re willing to take ones from my former honor guard.” Logan supplied.

Veronica gave her brother a small smile. “That will do nicely, thank you Logan. Can you have them ready and here within the hour?”

He nodded.

“Wonderful. As soon as they arrive we’ll depart. Dismissed.”

Logan and Hobson left, but Ben and Jasper lingered behind.

“Lady Veronica, it would do me a great honor to accompany you to this land and continue to serve you as I am able.”

The Queen gave the old man a wide smile. “I couldn’t ask that of you after all we went through in the revolution. I’ll always welcome you, Jasper.”

He returned her smile. “I’ll go pack my bag then!” and left the room.

“Darling you have to know how much I loathe this plan. I should be out there with you, fighting on the front lines! Like old times.”

“You know I can’t risk it. The only person left to run Albion would be Logan and the people won’t trust him outright. And I need you here to look after Robb.”

Ben’s brow furrowed and he shook his head.

“I’ll come back often. Every week at least once I promise.”

“You’re just as stubborn as Walter I swear, but I suppose I don’t really have a choice in this.”

“I’m sorry, Ben.”

“You’ll just owe me big time when this is all over. Now, you should probably go tell little Robb what’s going on.”

Veronica nodded. “Lyanna, feel free to roam the grounds for the time being. The garden is lovely. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

The elf thanked her and left with the couple, Veronica pointing the way to the gardens and they parted ways.

 

* * *

 

Veronica wiped the stray tear from her eyes as she said goodbye to her husband and son, and gave her brother a quick but tight hug.

Logan had called in the best of the best of his soldiers, ten in total, all armed to the teeth and carrying as much ammo with them as they could. Jasper had a knapsack of his belongings over his shoulder, her trusty collie Quinn sitting next her him. It was going to take work to get all of them including Lyanna and herself back to Thedas, if the other half of her plan even worked.

The queen approached Lyanna. “Well, time to see if this is really going to work. Can you make your mark glow a little? Enough to give off some energy?”

The elf gritted her teeth and let the mark flare ever so slightly. The group gripped shoulders while Jasper hung onto Quinn’s collar as Veronica charged her Will.

The mere seconds seemed to take minutes, but soon enough, Veronica’s skin and eyes began to glow a blue-white, and the glow created the winged aura that she was famed for since the battle against the Crawler. With a deep breath, she grabbed Lyanna’s small shoulder, and the group was gone in a blink of an eye.

 

* * *

 

The group landed with a rush of air in the middle of the Inquisition’s encampment in the Emerald Graves. Everyone in the camp quickly drew their weapons before seeing the Inquisitor standing in the middle of the group of soldiers.

Veronica’s soldiers looked around, hands on their weapons, wary and ready to protect their monarch.

Dorian approached the elf. “Since when did you leave the camp?”

Lyanna sighed. “Long story, Dorian.” The elf patted his arm as she walked by and to the lieutenant in charge of the encampment. “See to it that these men are accommodated for. They’re here to aid us.”

“Yes, Lady Inquisitor. Right away.”

* * *

 

Anders, Hawke, Dorian, Varric, Nymeria, Brynjolf, Vilkas, Cassandra, Farendare, Valasha, Azarath, Veronica, and the Lavellan siblings all crammed into Lyanna’s tent.

“As you’re all aware by now, we have some new friends from yet another land. This is Queen Veronica of Albion. She brought with ten of her best soldiers to assist the Inquisition in fighting Corypheus and his allies.” Lyanna spoke to the large group. “I want all of you to help as you can to fill in the gaps. Explain what’s going on, any history you think might be relevant, so everyone is on the same page.

“In regards for moving forward now, we still need to bring this region into order. Our scouts reported that there’s Red Templars active around here, and since they’re enough of us I want us to split into several groups, one of them tracking them down and maybe seeing if we can find where their stronghold is.

“I will lead another group to help Fairbanks, and the last group will roam the region, finding good spots for forward camps, helping anyone in need, and finding resources we could use.”

“I can track those templars.” Nymeria offered.

“Nym you’re not doing it alone.” Vilkas said.

“I work best alone. You know that.”

Lyanna spoke up. “I have no doubt of that, but the Red Templars aren’t anything to be trifled with.”

Nymeria shook her head. “Fine.”

Astrid spoke up. “I can lead the other team. I’m good at helping people.”

Varric stifled a laugh.

“Just say it Tethras.” The dark haired mage sassed.

“Help them find their way into a grave.”

Hawke opened her mouth to say something in her defense, but decided against it. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

“Then it’s settled. Everyone rest up. It’s going to be a bit of a long few weeks.”

The group said their goodbyes and retreated to various parts of the camp, some to their tents.

The Hero Queen went to check on Reaver, it was the least she could do to see if the bastard was still breathing.

He was still on the cot, large scabs raked across his torso

“And so the Queen comes to check if her loyal subject is still alive, eh?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “How are you feeling?”

“That vile potion you gave me made the healing process go a lot quicker, I’ll admit. It’s mostly healed by now, though those bloody healers refuse to let me do anything of use. For now anyway. I’ll be up whether they say so or not in the morning. The both of them are terribly uncharmable.”

“It’s under my impression they’re together, Reaver, have been a long time.”

“Which means it’s time to spice things up.”

“I’m not talking about this. You’re still alive. That’s enough for me. Get some sleep.”

He started to say more, but Veronica left the tent before he could get it all out.

She sat around the fire that was designated for her men and her tent, taking a seat on a log, next to Jasper, Quinn resuming his spot curled at her feet. She reached down and pet the dog affectionately.

“I must admit, I was not expecting to be living in the middle of the woods, your majesty.”

“Sorry about that Jasper. It’s only for a time. We sort of popped up a strange time.”

“Everything always does.”

They sat in a companionable silence for a time, listening to the soldiers talk about new assignment, and comments about the massive forest they found themselves in, the likes of which had not been found in Albion.

“Majesty, may I ask you a question?”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” she gave the old man a smile.

“Do you think we’ll really be able to help these strangers?”

“I do. I really do. I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t think I could make a difference.”

“May I be honest for a moment as well?”

The turned her head to look at the old man, raising an eyebrow.

“Right, well, your mother would be so proud of you. Going this far to help others, you truly are her daughter.”

Tears welled up in Veronica’s eyes. She hugged the him, gentle with her unnatural strength, but gave him a squeeze nonetheless.

“Thank you Jasper. It means so much you wanted to come with.”

“Of course, your majesty. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

“Right now, I agree. I can feel it. Something is happening here. It’s going to ripple and effect a lot of lives. I’m glad I can be a part of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I had a little fun with the title of this chapter. Also, I am totally on the bandwagon that Ben is a Hero of Skill. I just love it too much not to include it. I hope you guys enjoy! Thanks all to the readers that have been patient with updates. I am so sorry this took so long. I had most of this chapter written months ago but became stuck and just couldn't finish it. Also, the last quarter I had really had it in for me. I didn't think I was going to make it to the end. Now, Spring quarter of Freshman year is almost over, and I'm going to have so much time over the summer to write. Thank you all again so much for sticking with me.


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